words of passion for a Princess. The Ipso-Rorka was named—and even to that length of degradation would Arrack have assisted, so deep was he in the toils of sin. Then the day of reckoning came. Mighty thunders shook the Cave of Darkness. The wrath of Mitzor tore it asunder; no more shall these perfidious practices be handed down from father to son. No longer shall sin creep out unseen in Keemar. The Great White Glory has spoken. The Temple of Sin is in ruins, and under the mass of rock and stones lies the tortured body of Waiko. Whether he, too, had practised the sins of the unnamed also, we know not. But we do know his character was weak. We pray that his suffering on the Black Altar may have purged his soul and that soon he will be sitting in the warmth of the Tower of Help.” Misrath sat down, and the Rorka rose. “I have heard your case, O Arrack, in silence. I have listened to your tale of shame. One thing only is in your favour. You sought not an evil life, but sin and its sorrows were taught you when you were yet a child. But—” he paused. “You lived the life of Keemar. You attended our services of joy that were offered to Mitzor. You knew sin was abhorrent to us. From the time when our first parents populated our world, we have fought to keep Keemar perfect. Thanks to Mitzor we nearly succeeded. It is to prevent the occurrence of sins like yours that I pronounce sentence. Misrath, High Priest of our Temples—our Mediator on earth between Mitzor and man, robe the sinner in the garments of shame.” Immediately the grey tinted gaberdine was torn from Arrack, and in its place was put a long robe of black. The covering was taken from his head, and the sandals from his feet. His head was bowed in shame, and in shame he was led to the Sentence Bar, there to hear his fate. “Through the streets of Hoormoori shalt thou be led,” said the Rorka. “A rope round thy middle shall direct thee the way to go. Neither man nor woman shall speak to thee. Neither beast nor bird shall be permitted to fawn upon thee. Alone and an outcast shalt thou be sent upon thy way. Lonely shalt thy days be. Lonely shalt thou be taken to the Hall of Sorrows at Fyjipo. There thou shalt live until thy beard grows and turns white with age. Should thy call come early, alone wilt thou have to meet the Great White Glory. No Sacrament shall help thee on thy way. Neither incense nor prayers shall assist thee in thy last moments here. Alone and wretched thou shalt leave this world. But should thy call not come soon, then shalt thou stay in the Hall of Sorrows until thy beard covers thy face and thy middle, then—when that time arrives, shalt thou be free to leave the place of sorrow. But thy life will be lonely all thy days for the sins thou hast committed.”