He did not shrink from the situation when it came; he had too much grit for that. "It is a lie," he reasserted, and turning to the larger crowd beyond the listening few, raised his voice. "Listen, friends, and I will tell you why it is not true that this golden paper fell from Heaven into Kâli's temple. Why, her priests lie when they say it did. Listen, for I am Brahmin. I know the gods and their ways, and I know the _Huzoors_ and their ways also." "Who is the lad? he speaks well," passed in murmurs among the crowd which closed in to see and hear better. Chris pulled himself together as he stood, his figure showing clear against the light that lingered on the river. "Who am I?" he echoed. "Listen, and I will tell you; I am twice born, regenerate--a Brahmin of the Brahmins." There was sudden stir in the crowd, a murmur, 'Let her pass--she knows.' And then in that clear space where he stood, a woman stood also; a Hindoo widow, with bare arm uplifted from her white shroud. 'Lie not, Krishn Davenund!' she said. 'Thou art outcast, accursed! I, thy mother, say it.' The face, clear cut, pale with continued fasting, showed no pain, no regret, only stern reproof. 'Thou art not twice-born now. Oh! son of my desolation,' she went on, her voice shrilling as she spoke, 'thou art twice-dead. Go back to thy new ways, to thy new wife!' A sudden stretch of her hand towards the scarlet-clad young girl, shrinking by her side, told its tale of something more bitter than bigotry; of a mother's jealousy. Chris, who had fallen back from that unexpected betrayal, gave a hasty glance round, and what he saw in the faces of the crowd made him realise his position. 'Hush, mother!' he began; but it was too late. Her story was well known among the priests. They were in arms at once, and, ere a minute passed, Chris found himself at bay, ankle deep in the water into which he had been driven, his back against the sacred temple of Viseshwar: so adding to his crime by its defilement. 'Listen!' he called. But the crowd were already past that, and the cries 'He is a spy!' 'He hath defiled us!' 'Whom hath he not touched?' 'He hath been here all day!' 'He is sent to make us Christians!' rose on all sides. Chris, his back to the temple, set his teeth. Beyond the crowd, that was kept at a yard's distance yet by something in his face, he could see two women, scarlet and white robed, sobbing in each other's arms, and the sight made him savage for their pain. 'How can I defile you?' he cried; 'I am Brahmin. Yonder is my mother. My father all know. Who dares to take my birthright from me?' 'Who? thyself!' came viciously from the foremost row of priests. 'Where is thy sacred thread, apostate?' Chris flinched for the first time. It was true. In a fit of anger when his own received him not, he had removed the badge of the twice-born with his own hands. So he had nothing to which he could appeal. Nothing old or new!