“Good,” answered Persoph. “This,” pointing about him, “all this must go. Summon me Misrath, the High Priest. Bid him bring his ‘waters of purity’ and his smoke of sweet odours. Bid him bring his choir of young voices, and bid all prepare. A sacrifice will be offered to Mitzor; the Great White Glory must be appeased.” Alan and Sir John were very mystified over the whole scene. These Jovians did not seem to understand Death—yet they spoke of sacrifice! “I am sorry, my son,” said the Jkak. “I can save nothing for you. All must be burnt and offered to Mitzor. Come now, I will draw a ring around the contaminated spot, and we will witness the destruction from without.” Sir John and Alan were both loth to have the Argenta burnt—but being dependent on the Jovians for their entire future, they were unable to demur. With a silent prayer for the friend who had given his life for them, they left the ship and stood some way off. After an interminable time of waiting, a mighty blast of music burst on their ears, and they saw a procession of etheric bhors coming towards them. The first stopped, and Misrath the High Priest alighted, followed by priests and acolytes in quaint garments of ecclesiastical cut. A procession formed—two acolytes with censers led the way, and wafted the glorious perfume from side to side. Then followed one of the most mystical and picturesque ceremonies it was possible to imagine. Almost of Mosaic grandeur, it thrilled the watchers. They were unable to understand what was being said—all was in the language of the Keemarnians—but the meaning was plain. The High Priest offered the Argenta and its contents to Mitzor, the Great White Glory. He offered it, with its fine workmanship, its precious metals—and its body of sin. He asked that through the mediation of the sacrifice, any evil might be averted, that the entrance of Death might bring. He consecrated the Argenta to Mitzor—he consecrated the ground it contaminated. He poured the “waters of purity” across its bow, and named it “Meeka,” the Bringer of Knowledge. Then the Argenta was sprayed from stem to stern with a milky fluid that dried like little curds all over the vessel. A torch was lighted and applied to the ship. Little flames ran along meeting each other until they merged into one great whole; there was a roar and a noise like thunder, and the Argenta, the hobby of a life time, the fruit of patient labour, was no more! Sir John watched with a set face, but as the fire died out, and he saw that the whole had been swallowed up, had consumed itself entirely,—he crumpled up, and lay inert upon the ground. CHAPTER VI THE SACRAMENT OF SCHLERIK-ITATA Alan bent over his uncle, but the High Priest waved him away. “Touch him not,” said he sternly, and such command rang in his tones, that Alan stepped back involuntarily.