“Yes, my son. In Kaweeka you see the Princess of Kalvar, and direct descendant in the female line of the unfortunate Korah himself.” “Where is Korah’s burial place?” asked Desmond. Har-Barim shook his head. “No one knows—in the generations of time that have passed the secret has been lost, and the exact position forgotten. No one knows—no one ever will know, until—but there, read from the fourteenth line of the sixth part of our prophet, Zurishadeel,” and taking a small parchment from his voluminous pocket he handed it to Alan and left them to translate it for themselves. Laboriously they copied out the translation— “For the body of Korah the devil is hidden with those of his household. Their flesh shall rot and their bones become powder, and in a generation their last resting place shall be forgotten. But on the day the secret is no more—for behold a virgin shall in a dream learn the way—the fire shall consume quickly, strange people shall enter the land of Kalvar, and desolation and destruction shall come to all those that inhabit the earth. Yea, the people that are in the belly of it, and they that have been disgorged from it—when the Fire grows less—when the Tomb of Korah is found then shall all in due time perish.” “Cheery old chap, isn’t he?” laughed Desmond. But Alan was thoughtful. “I wonder what the secret of the fire is. They seem to worship it, although they pray to the ‘Lord of their Fathers.’ It certainly is getting less—I can’t help feeling that something terrible will happen if it does ever go out entirely.” For some time they gazed meditatively at the translations they had made when a shadow crossing Desmond’s paper made him look up. It was Kaweeka—Kaweeka who had not visited them for months it seemed, and whose presence now seemed to denote some evil. Quietly she watched them for a few minutes, and a curious light came into her eyes. They glittered and shone with an almost fanatical glow—and in fact her whole being was one of suppressed excitement and almost maniacal fervour. “Come,” said she at last, and held out a hand to each. They felt impelled to obey her, and she led them straight to the temple which was curiously deserted. The great fire was burning in fits and starts. Suddenly a flaming tongue would leap out, blazing brightly as if refusing to be killed, and a moment later it would lie dead and dormant among the embers. Then suddenly the fire would emit a passion of sparks which flew upward in a fury, only to fall back within its folds, dull and lifeless. It was still enormous of course, but the boys realized that its life was nearing the end, and that its power was nearly gone. Kaweeka suddenly turned on Desmond and in a whirl of passion addressed him.