"But is there no way to escape?" Lianor asked wildly, frightened at the peril into which her folly had brought them all.
"We might have gone; but it is too late. They are here," Toki said gravely. "The only thing we can do is to hide amongst these broken statues, and perhaps we may be safe from their view."
Scarcely had this been done than the procession arrived, stopped before the temple, and the men commenced building a huge square pile of wood; on this they placed a bier, on which lay the corpse of an old man, decked with silks and costly jewels.
Lianor and Panteleone, watching from their hiding-place the strange preparations, now saw a girl, very young and beautiful, but weeping bitterly, being dragged toward the pile by a tall, hard-looking woman.
"Come!" she cried, in loud, ringing tones, "now is the time to uphold the honor of your family, and show your courage!"
With a shudder the girl drew back, and clasping her hands piteously together, said:
"Why should I thus sacrifice my young life to the cruelty of your customs? I cannot endure the thought of being burnt alive—it is too horrible!"
"It is your duty! A widow must follow her husband in death," coldly.
The youthful widow burst into passionate weeping, and gave an agonized glance around at the vindictive faces; not one among that multitude, she thought, felt pity for the girl who was condemned to so horrible a fate.
She was mistaken, and a second gaze revealed a young boy, not more than fifteen, who was quietly sobbing, an expression of deep anguish on his face.