"I might do worse," I admitted, watching intently the lights on the cliff-path, "but it was not the teaching of my childhood. There is one below whose prayers are as yours."
"Madame de Noyan?"
I bowed my head in gesture of reverence.
"Yes, Monsieur, and whatever she loves is not far from my heart. But come, we have scant time for preparation; no, do not endeavor to walk; your weight is nothing to my arms."
There was no spot within where, even for a short period, we might hope to avoid discovery, except the rock gallery. Here, crouching behind the parapet, we could see without being seen, unless some savage chanced to stray that way. At my order the sullen, psalm-quoting preacher dragged the helpless old chief priest after him, and so we went groping forward through the darkness of the short passage, until we attained the stone steps. Stumbling blindly upward, our hearts throbbing in realization of the peril that was closing us in, we flung our bodies flat behind the concealing rocks, peering fearfully forth into the great deserted chamber. Even amid that lonely silence it was a sight to chill the heart; and to us, comprehending something of what it would soon reveal of savage orgy. It was like gazing down into the mouth of the Pit. The single touch of color in the drear picture came from the crimson drapery hanging over the edge of the raised platform. Seeing all this at one glance my anxious eyes sought the deeper gloom shrouding the tunnel leading toward the entrance. As I stared that way a sudden flash of fierce lightning illumined it. So brilliant it burst forth from the opaque night, I hid my blinded eyes, every nerve of my body quivering.
"Great God!" burst forth Cairnes, his voice so close as to startle me. "'T is like the end of the world!"
"Be still," I commanded hastily, pressing him flat, "there they come."
A dozen flaming torches rounded the rock projection the lights glistening over the half-naked bodies of the bearers. Saint Andrew! it was a weird sight, one to strike terror to the soul! With gritted teeth, my heart pounding, I looked out upon it. The leader was a priest, black from head to heel, his face showing devilish in the torch flare, his coarse hair matted high in horrid resemblance to some wild beast. Behind surged a mob of warriors, women, and children, half-nude bodies striped with red and yellow, a malignant demoniacal crew, yelling and pushing under the flaming lights, rushing tumultuously forward to fling themselves prostrate before the altar. It seemed they would never cease pouring forth from the narrow tunnel, a struggling, gesticulating stream. Behind them lightning played in jagged streaks across the little patch of sky, and the black smoke of the torches curled upward to the roof. Their appearance was not human, but that of demons incarnate; some ran upon all fours like wolves, gnashing their teeth and howling; many yelped in fiendish chorus; others brandished weapons aloft in the yellow flame, or lay, writhing like glistening snakes on the rock floor. It was a pandemonium, a babel, an unspeakable hell. To count was impossible, but the great room was filled with bodies, and rang with guttural, inarticulate cries. The busily flitting priests stirred up the wood until the blaze leaped nearly to the roof, mumbling as they worked, the incessant moaning of the tribesmen deepening into a weird chant. The frenzied singers leapt into the air, flinging their limbs about in wild contortion, their movements increasing in violence, their grotesquely painted faces becoming hellish from awakening passion. They became brutes, fiends, whose only thought was cruelty. I saw them strike each other with stone knives, slashing the flesh till blood ran. Heartsick and trembling, I glanced aside at my companions. The père lay clasping the stone, his eyes wide with horror, his countenance death-like; Cairnes was upon his knees, his great hands gripped, staring straight down like some animal crouching for a spring.
It was when I turned back, loathing the sight yet unable to resist facing it, that I beheld for the first time those I sought—Eloise, De Noyan, and the Queen Naladi. An instant I blinded my eyes with uplifted arm, half believing that the horror had turned my brain, that all this was vision. Yet, as I ventured to look again, they were there before me in the flesh—Naladi all in red, a wondrous figure amid that spectral glow, tall, straight, with proud, imperious face, crowned by the brilliant hair, radiant and sparkling in the flame. Beside her loitered De Noyan, like one who enjoyed a spectacle arranged for his pleasure, his face darkening somewhat as though the sight were not altogether to his liking, yet debonair and careless, his waxed moustaches standing forth conspicuous, his fingers in his waist-belt. About the two were ranged a fringe of warriors, their flint-headed spears rising an impenetrable wall, while farther behind, separated and alone, the light of the fire barely revealing her presence, stood Eloise, a savage guard on either side of her. I caught the outline of her face, imprinted with horror, the lips moving as if in supplication; then I perceived something else—her hands were bound! Smothering an oath, I crept back to the pile of weapons in the corner, gripped a war-club, and, returning as silently, thrust a second into the unconscious hands of Cairnes. Our eyes met, the sectary nodding grimly, his jaws set like a steel trap. If need should arise we would die fighting like cornered rats.
Their yells reverberating to the vaulted roof, the smoking torches gyrating wildly above them, the throng of crazed fanatics were now upon their feet, crowding toward the platform, every tongue clamoring in incessant demand. All was confusion, a medley of noise and motion, tossing arms, and painted faces. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Naladi's red robe scarcely ten feet away, and behind her the countenance of De Noyan, still contemptuously smiling at that shrieking rabble. God! my face burned, my grasp tightened on the club. Yet I lay motionless, knowing well the time of sacrifice was not yet.