Lianor gazed with awed eyes at the magnificent palace, still bearing traces of former beauty.
"How wonderful! I must stay here, Leone, and sketch those old statues. We need go no farther."
The day was beginning to get intensely hot, so the men were nothing loth to seek shelter in the cool temple, to sleep away the sunny hours.
Sketch-book in hand, the girl chose a shady retreat outside, and was soon lost in her work.
Presently the dreamy silence was broken; faint cries from afar reached her; and looking hastily up, Lianor saw a sight which made her stand rooted to the spot in speechless horror.
In the distance, pouring from out the mountains, were a multitude of Indians clad in divers costumes, carrying in their hands fantastic idols, and followed by a train of Brahmins, singing a low, monotonous chant, which had warned the girl of their approach.
Recovering her self-possession, and calling to the startled servants, Lianor entered the temple, where Panteleone and the men were quietly dozing.
"Leone, awake! The Indians are coming!"
The youth sprang to his feet, and, flinging one arm round his cousin, he drew a sharp poignard from his sash, and clutched it firmly.
"Do not be afraid, Lianor. I will guard you with my life!" he said bravely.