“But—my husband——”
“He must remain,” he said. “It is of his own choosing.”
V
The temple stood in a kind of clearing. Grotesquely horrible figures guarded the time-worn entrance. Moreen drew a deep breath of relief on emerging from the jungle path by which, amid the rustle of retreating snakes, they had come, but shrank back affrighted from the blackness of the ruined doorway. Ramsa Lal stood the lantern upon the stump of a broken pillar, where its faint yellow light was paled by the moon-rays.
“It is you who must restore,” he said.
One by one he handed her the jewel-encrusted vessels and hung the ropes of rubies upon her arm.
She nodded, and as Ramsa Lal took up the lantern and began to descend the steps within followed him.
“No foot save his,” came back to her, “has trod these sacred steps for ages, for the secret of the jungle path is known only to the few....”
“How do you—know the way?”