Directly in front of them it lay now,—a small, square building of grayish white stone cut in heavy blocks. The top of the structure was flat and square, but from the middle of it rose a conical, pagoda-like dome, also of stone:—to the Indian eye a sufficiently symmetrical finish to the whole. The entire building was ornamented with innumerable bas-reliefs, flutings, and carvings, crude enough in themselves, but, taken in the mass, giving an effect of considerable richness. Neither wing, veranda, nor jut marred the straight lines of the side walls; and for this, the temple was probably unique in the jumbling architecture of its period. As it stood here, silent, deserted, on the edge of the wild-rushing stream, surrounded by shadowy plain and backed by high-reaching hills, it gave an impression of loneliness that no momentary spectacle of trooping horses and men could shake off. It was some time before ten o’clock when the procession halted and dismounted at its destination. There was a pause, while the priests opened the long-locked doors and kindled a fire inside, before the small, stone image of the god. Then, Bhavani leading the way, with Oman close behind him, the throng passed into the stone-lined chamber. Oman entered with closed eyes. There was an oppression on him that would not be shaken off. He shook and shivered in the chill of the little place. When he finally looked about him, the chant of prayers had begun, and he was surrounded by silent, motionless men. There were no windows, and little light entered through the doorway, which was occupied by villagers who strove to hear something of the service. The audience, therefore, could see only by means of the flickering firelight. Everything—roof, walls, floor, and the image of the god, were of the same grayish-white stone, polished, but not carved. In the centre of the floor, however, close to where Oman stood, was the marble tomb that had been built over the ashes of the two whom they came to mourn. The whole of this sarcophagus was covered with inscriptions and carvings gracefully arranged. And this was all that the temple held. A single glance was enough to take it in. Oman saw it so; and then he stood listening dully to the meaningless words of the chant, while the ruby burned upon his breast, and his brain throbbed with the pain of memory. When the prayers were finished, every one left the temple and went out into the open, where a meal was to be served. But, while priests and people ate, in separate groups, Oman and Bhavani, who were of one mind, returned to the building, and silently reëntered it. Advancing to the sarcophagus, they paused, one on either side of it, Oman resting both hands on the chilly marble. The eyes of the two met, and each found in the other’s look what lay in his own:—bitterness and sadness. When they had stood there for a long time, each wrapped in his own thoughts, Bhavani murmured, quietly, as if to himself: