The days passed quiet and undeeded by at Elephantum. Six moons had waxed and waned their crescents monthly, silvering the pillars of the temple; Nikaiyah, growing gray and hoary like the fading year, was bending under the burdens of life. As he neared the boundary of existence, he was ever more eagerly gazing into the future—more than over wrapt in devotion. Yet he would often seek to amuse his charge; and, by his authority, she had free scope to roam about the island. This she constantly did, when tired of the monotonous life in the temple, the silent reveries of the priests, the servile obedience of their menials, the never-varying round of duties, and the din and confusion of some high festival. With nature for her nurse, she had naturally become an ardent admirer of her beauties. Why was it she so often met the young Demetros in her rambles? Why was she constantly detecting him dogging her footsteps? Had he any commission to her?—if not, why did he follow her?—if so, why avoid her open presence?
Demetros was formerly one of the most zealous priests in the temple. His golden locks, however, owned some milder sun than that of Hindoostan. His clear and handsome brow and classic profile contrasted strongly with the swarthy and stern expression of the elder, and the lewd leer of the younger priests. Yet he was treated by all as a brother. All save one old Brahmin seemed ignorant of his origin, and he was silent.
One bright day, Ganga had wandered far from the precincts of the temple, and stood on a crag overhanging the sea, which she had once crossed with Nikaiyah. The waves played up at the very base of the rock; and, as she stood and gazed at the mimic breakers rippling against the shore, she almost fancied herself once more in her happy valley, watching the flow of the Ganges. Absorbed in the glorious prospect, she inadvertently approaches too near the edge of the rock. Look how the white foam chases the advancing wave. A crack—the rock crumbles: a plash—and Ganga is once more at the mercy of the treacherous element. Years have, however, added strength to her limbs, habit has rendered her fearless. Boldly she breasts the tide, and seeks for some shelving spot along the banks whereon to land. A sandy beach glistens in the sun a few rods before her; she makes for it. A seething, foaming rush in the water causes her to turn her head, and, oh! Heavens! the blue fins and greedy jaws of a shark are close behind her! Tearing through the water, which whitens in the spray of his wake, the monster gains upon her. She grows fainter, the waves beat in her ears with a dull, hollow sound; her efforts are feebler. The dazzling light of the glistening water blinds her as to the proper direction. She hears the shark; almost feels the ripple which precedes his coming. There is a cry somewhere, a loud rushing of water, and she knows no more until she opens her eyes upon the shore, to see Demetros, wet and bloody, bending anxiously over her.
Silence—the silence of a heart too troubled with conflicting emotions to trust itself to uttered thanks—could alone express the gratitude of Ganga.
Flushed with his exertions, the Apollo-like youth stood the picture of manly beauty, save where the trickling blood betrayed his recent battle with the monster. He kindly offered to escort her to the temple; and as they proceeded with increasing confidence, and guessing the meaning of her curious looks, he confessed to her that he was not her countryman: that years since, when he could scarce lisp his native tongue, he remembered a vast and glittering city, dedicated to Athena, in a country far to the North-West, which looked out on the sparkling Ægean. He then—a Greek—had wandered or been taken captive, he scarce remembered how, and had come to Elephantum. All these things were as a daydream to him: a dream of the morning of life, which the rising sun of manhood had well nigh dispelled like the gray haze of dawn. He had heard them talk of King Philip, and he thought of the war of the allies. He tells her how well he remembered his mother, for there was memory, like affection, strongest, that she must now sit bereaved and weep the absence of her fair-haired boy. To him, there was no hope of return, indeed he would not wish to now: and the tender glance awoke a sympathetic flutter in the heart of Ganga, when they entered the vale of the temple. What was that sound afar, and the confusion as they draw nearer the temple? They run to and fro, and chant the dirge for the departed. Why did the echoes howling through the vault repeat the name of Nikaiyah?
The old man was dead.
Little time was left for reflection. As if to assuage the poignancy of her grief, the Gods had sent a new and imminent danger to divert her attention. Scarce is she allowed to take a farewell look at her old friend, or shed a tear over his corpse, when the increasing clamor in the court of the temple rouses new fears and most horrible suggestions. Why were they making this indecent tumult, while their eldest and most revered fellow had just breathed his last? Alas! the loud tones of the controversy showed, but too plainly, how little his past influence was regarded, while it made her painfully aware of the dangers that surrounded her.
“Ganga to the pyre!”
“Ganga shall be mine!” reiterated alternately the older and the younger priests. What! then those whose passions were cooled with age would sacrifice her as a burnt-offering to the manes of the departed; the others would cast her into that pit of infamy which the priestesses shared in the temple. Dreadful alternative! Yet could Ganga hesitate? Ah! but would they leave it to her choice? It was but too evident that the stronger party would rule, and thus her fate would be decided. In agony, the young girl invoked the assistance of the Gods—above all, of the Ganges goddess, Sivah; the Ganges, in whose purifying stream she had at infancy been cleansed from sin—could she now but seek an innocent death in its waves!
But hush! there is a sudden silence. They have decided, and the rapid footsteps come to announce her fate. Shuddering, the poor child is dragged before the assembled multitude. It needs but one glance to see that both parties are baffled; and that, after all, the choice will be left with herself. She looks round on the eager crowd, thirsting for her life or for her honor, and her heart grows faint within her.