On, on they went, the noise getting louder and louder every moment, until, upon turning a corner, a wondrous sight met their eyes. Belching forth from the rocks themselves, forcing itself out from regions unseen, falling like a waterfall from some high precipice, the torrent rushed, making a lake of considerable dimensions, which was overflowing its banks—a wild, mad, boiling liquid. The spray rose a hundred feet in height, and splashed all round and the whole place was fearsome and ghostly. At one end of the turbulent lake was a tiny outlet, perhaps two feet wide, through which the waters ran at breakneck speed. The fearsome noise, the sight of the rushing waters, the intense weirdness of the scene, kept both boys speechless with awe at their surroundings, but Jez-Riah was on her knees, bathing her face in the water, letting it trickle over her hair, drinking it from cups made of her two hands. And above the din and clamour they heard her singing a weird hymn of praise to the accompaniment of the music of the waters. The boys listened eagerly, and again and again they heard the refrain— “Korah—Korah—father of our people—the waters will lead us to where thy bones lie, “Korah—Korah—thou hast not forsaken us—I am bathing in the waters of faith and purity.” Then Jez-Riah flung off her draperies and plunged into the boiling waters. The boys watched in breathless amazement as she battled with the whirlpools, but she proved stronger than they, and swam on until she reached the mighty waterfall. Round and round she was carried and whirled but she reached her goal at last—a tiny slab of rock protruding out of the waters and under the shadow of the mighty cascade itself. Standing upon it she began a weird dance—a fanatical dance of joy. The foaming waters almost hid her from their gaze, the spray rose in front of her like a filmy gauze. At moments, however, her lithe body was exposed to view, and the boys marvelled at her agility. She did not seem to tire, but danced on, her voice raised in a strange hymn of praise. Praise of the waters, praise of the light, praise to the God of the Sun. Then came a mighty prayer that the secret ways might be opened to her—and that she might lead the strangers to safety. And even as she sang and prayed, her limbs were moving fast in dance and the waters were dashing over her and chilling her. When she had finished her prayer she sank to her knees in an abandonment of grief and asked pardon for her one great sin—the sin she committed in leaving the temple, where she was Watcher to the Fire. There was a long silence—only broken by the voices of the torrent raised in its ceaseless dirge.