The moon shone broadly over a pool of purplish quicksilver. A ragged fringe of trees bordered it like a wreath. The waters were quiet––very, very quiet. They scarcely rippled the myriad stars which glittered back mockingly at those above. The air over and above it all was the thin air of the skies, not of the earth. It was as silent here as in the purple about the planets. Man seemed too coarse for so fine a setting. Even woman, nearest of all creatures to fairy stuff, must needs be at her best to make a fitting part of this.

From out of the shadows of this fringe of trees there stole silently another shadow. This moved slowly like a funeral barge away from the shore. As it came full into the radius of that silver light (a light matching the dead) it seemed more than ever one with sheeted things, for half prone upon this raft lay a girl whose cheeks were white against the background of her black hair and whose eyes saw nothing of the world about her. She stared more as the dead stare than the living,––stared into the shining eyes of the golden image which she held with rigid arms upon her knees, the image which had entangled so many lives. Her bosom moved rhythmically, slowly, showing 297 that she was not dead. The golden image stared back at her. Its eyes caught the moonbeams in its brilliant surfaces, so that it looked more a living thing than she who held it.

Facing them, standing bolt upright save when he stooped a trifle to reach forward with his paddle, was Sorez, who might have passed for Charon. His thin frame, his hollow cheeks, the intense look of his burning eyes gave him a ghostly air. The raft moved without a sound, scarcely rippling the waters before it, scarcely disturbing in its wake the gaunt shadow cast by Sorez, which followed them like a pursuing spectre. He studied keenly the dumb shores which lay in a broad circumference about them. He could see every yard of the lake and saw that they themselves were the only scar upon its mirror surface.

Peak upon peak looked down upon them, and higher, star upon star. Dead, indifferent things they were, chance accessories to this drama. They awaited the touch of sterner forces than those of man for their changes.

He who drove the raft along breathed as one who is trying hard to control himself in the face of a great emotion. His eyes continually shifted from the girl to the shores, then back again to the girl. In this way he reached a position near the middle of the lake. Here he paused.

He seemed to hesitate at the next step as though a great deal depended upon it. His lips moved, but he seemed afraid to break the silence. The girl remained 298 immovable, still staring into the glittering eyes of the image. He studied her eagerly as though he would lead her mind before he spoke, for upon the first reply to his question depended the success or failure of all he had dared, of all he had undertaken. As she answered, either he would be the laughing stock of the world, or the most famous of modern adventurers; a comparatively poor man, or the richest in jewels of all the world. Suddenly he stooped and, bending close to the ear of the girl, said very distinctly:

“We are on the lake of Guadiva. It is said that here below the waters lies the shrine of the Golden One. You can see below the waters. Is––the shrine––here?”

Her lips moved uncertainly; an indistinct muttering followed. He held his breath in his excitement.

“The shrine––it is––it is below.”

His color changed from gray to the red of youth; his eyes brightened, his whole body seemed to grow young with new strength. He asked the second question with feverish impatience,

“From here is it straight ahead, to the left, or the right?”

“Ahead and––and I can’t see, I–––”

“Look deeper and you can see.”

“To the right,” she said decisively.

He dipped the paddle deep and put all his strength into the strokes. For a hundred yards the ripples broke in front of the clumsy craft. Again he stopped and asked the direction. Her lips trembled over the 299 words, exactly like those of one talking in sleep. It was always with an effort that she was able sufficiently to concentrate herself to give voice to what she saw. This time she bade him continue straight ahead. So he proceeded for another hundred yards. In this way he crossed to within an eighth of a mile of the opposite shore. Here she bade him pause, in answer to his questioning. He was not an emotional man, but he had never been under such a tension as during this manoeuvering or felt such a variety of sensations.

“To the left,” she muttered. And then almost querulously, “I can’t find it. It is near here, but I do not see it.”

She moved him almost in a circle, and still back and forth, back and forth without seeming able to locate the spot for which she sought. They were opposite two high cliffs which revealed a deep fissure between them. Now and again her head turned upwards to this spot and her face became troubled––the brows coming together in a puzzled scowl, which sometimes faded away into a look of fear. Once, with a startled cry, she put her hands up over her eyes and swayed back and forth with low moaning. He roused her from this by a sharp command, and she turned again to the lake with no trace of this disturbance. He began to get worried as she reached no definite spot. It was possible that she could not bring him to any smaller radius than this circle. This would leave a doubt so serious as after all to bring things to nothing. He stooped again.

“The altar––it is near here? We must find it––find it. Look deep––look in all directions––look without fear. You must find it––the altar of the Golden One with its treasure. You must find it.”

But she only raised her head and fixed her staring eyes upon the dark cliffs. She looked as though she were listening very intently,––as to a cry from a distance of which she was not sure.

Her lips formed the word “David.” He caught it and it startled him so that for a moment he followed her eyes, listening too. But beyond there was nothing but the sober height of barren rock standing stark against the sky. There was no movement below on the shore; there was no shadow upon the lake. Yet with eyes fixed upon this scene she still called the name, “David, David.”

Sorez placed his hand upon her forehead. He concentrated the full power of his mind upon the quest.

“Below––below––you must look below, not above. You must see nothing but the altar of the Golden One. Below, deep, deep––look, search until you find it.”

Her features became smooth once more and she obeyed the command. She said very distinctly this time.

“The altar is here.”

“Below us?”

“Here.”

He doubted––doubted even as the blood rushed through his veins with the gladness of her words. He doubted as one will to prolong the joy of the truth. But 301 there still remained much else to be learned. It was possible that the treasure was not so great as had been reported. If only she could see it lying there; if only she could tell him of the bars of yellow gold, of the glittering heaps of precious stones, of the jumbled pile of golden plate which had lain there for so long! The thought of it was enough to start the fever of desire. He wished even that he could force her to go down there and bring up to him a bit that he himself could touch and see and weigh. As he stood beside her with the lust of this thing in his eyes, a shadow detached itself from the shore. It may have been only the reflection of a tiny cloud. But there were no clouds. It may have been just a bit of driftwood. But it moved slowly and steadily towards the raft.

Sorez bent above the girl again.

“The Golden Man will tell you. Look into his eyes very hard.”

The girl grasped the image more tightly and obeyed.

“Now go below, deep––deep.”

For some reason, even as she had done in the room when first she had held this thing, she drew back in fear at this.

“No! No!” she pleaded.

But Sorez had lost sight of her as a personality now; she was nothing but a means to this one end; nothing but an adjunct to this heathen idol. He repeated his command more decisively––more sternly. His words were sharp––cold.

The shadow which had left the shore still came nearer––silently, swiftly.

The girl rested her frightened eyes upon the brilliant jewels set below the ugly, squat brow. They glowed in answer. They sparkled like tiny fires. Her face grew strained––her breathing became more rapid.

“Deeper––deeper!”

The shadow had come very near. Had the girl not been looking so intently into the crystal eyes, she could have seen––could have warned. The moon now showed it to be a canoe and in the canoe a man. The man was very lean and his uncovered head was close shaven. His eyes were very like those in the image.

The girl shuddered.

“Deeper––deeper!” came the relentless command.

Her voice came back muffled––as though from a distance.

“It is dark––dark.”

She began to gasp. Then suddenly she placed her hand to her head.

“I see no gold––I see no gold!”

Sorez sank to his knees before the girl. His face was chalk white.

“Gone? Is it gone?”

The shadow was now beside the raft. The shadow was now behind Sorez. The shadow placed one foot upon the raft, but it paused there a moment at the cry which brought Sorez also to attention.

“Father!” screamed the girl. “Father!”

Sorez stared straight ahead of him in a frenzy. Then the shadow sprang, throwing his arms about the tall figure. Without a cry Sorez sank under him. He made a brief struggle but he was too weak to overcome the demon strength of the man who bore him down. With remarkable dexterity, the Priest bound him hand and foot before he had recovered fully from the shock of the fall.

The girl was now murmuring to herself, murmuring the one word “Father.” It was an appealing, frightened cry, full of doubt, uncertainty, and yet of hungry love. For a second it held the attention of both men, the Priest taking a step nearer the girl and looking at her almost curiously.

Sorez knew this was the end. But he was a good gambler; having lost all, he accepted his fate with stoicism. He kept his head clear––clear enough to do the thing which marked him a man. He squirmed about until he faced the girl. With every ounce of strength in him, he shouted his final command to her.

“Awake! Awake!”

The girl stirred uneasily. The Priest reached for his knife, not understanding.

“Awake!” repeated Sorez, and his voice quivered with the intensity of his earnestness. “Awake!”

The girl trembled and seemed to fight her way to consciousness as one after a deep dive struggles to the top. She gasped for breath. Her eyes fluttered open, closed, fluttered open again. She roused herself to a sitting posture and the image dropped from her lap. 304 The Priest snatched it up as the girl shrank back from him. For a moment the two stared at each other. The Priest was held motionless. Then as Sorez hitched a bit to one side, he turned to his work.

Sorez hoped for nothing but a swift end. The cruel face of the other left nothing to question, nothing else to hope. But now that the girl had shaken off the influence of the image he was easier. There was but one thing left to try, even though the eyes looking down into his hinted at nothing of mercy; he must save the girl if possible.

As the Priest bent over him, he found his voice.

“Listen to me a moment. I have nothing to ask for myself, I took my chances and I lost. But the girl here––she is innocent of even wishing for your treasure.”

“Why then is she here?”

“I brought her here.”

“You could not––against her will.”

Sorez moistened his lips and explained: “She came on another mission. She came in search of a father who has been long missing.”

“To this lake––to this spot––with the image in her lap?”

“No––this part of it is at my prompting. She but obeyed me.”

The Priest turned away impatiently. He saw the girl crouching in terror of him. He moved nearer. He saw her black eyes. They remained on his strangely immovable. He felt something of a tremor. Things about him became blurred for a moment. He shook himself free.

“I have heard too many stories,” he said.

“But, good God! you believe this,” burst out Sorez. “You haven’t the heart to revenge yourself upon her? You–––”

He checked himself. He knew the man would do as he most feared. This, then, was to be his punishment––to know that he had brought the girl to such an end as this––that he had won her trust and confidence and rewarded it with such torture as this demon might mete out to her. The Priest might even slay her before his eyes. He strained at the rope which bound him until it tore into his flesh. The waters played about the raft. The stars danced in the ripples.

Sorez brought himself to try once more.

“If you have a spark of pity in your heart, you will do her no harm. Listen! I lied to the girl. I brought her here on the hope that she might find this father who has been a long time gone from home. He was a sea captain and I told her that many captains had been lost here in the mountains and been found again. I told her that I had seen her father in Bogova. That is why she came.”

“To the lake?”

Sorez had but a second in which to decide. If he told the Priest of the girl’s power, the latter might slay her to bury the secret, or torture her to betray it to him. No, it would be safer to leave the Priest merely suspicious.

“As I am about to die,” affirmed Sorez, solemnly, “that is God’s truth.”

The Priest placed the little golden idol out of danger. Then he stooped and bound the ropes more tightly about the ankles of the prostrate man. Sorez watched him with new interest––almost with a new hope. He glanced at the girl and saw her kneeling upon the raft, her white face to the moon.

The Priest bent to fasten the rope which already bit into the flesh above the arms. It was for this Sorez had prayed. As the Priest stooped, his long coat swayed within reach of the long-waiting fingers. Sorez gripped both laps and that grip was the grip of death.

Before the Priest understood the situation, Sorez had bent his bound legs double beneath him and, gripping the tightly bound straw with his heels, shoved with all his strength towards the edge of the raft. The Priest fell atop of him, but instantly tore himself back. The fingers held. Once again Sorez hitched forward and once again the Priest came with him. In a panic the crazed Priest bore his knees down upon the prostrate man and then swung off to one side. But the fingers held. Sorez was now lying with his head half over the edge. The silver waters lipped his gray hair. He raised his legs once more––just once more, and shoved.

He gained an inch. Then in a flash the Priest managed to stand up with Sorez still clinging. But only for a moment, when he fell backwards, striking the back of his head sharply upon the logs. The girl screamed in fright. The Priest saw the world swim 307 before his eyes, and the next second looked up to find a woman––his own daughter––his Jo––looking back at him! But Sorez still clung and still shoved with his legs towards the edge of the boat.

“For God’s sake––what are you about?” gasped he who a moment gone had been the Priest.

Sorez saw nothing of the change. He was busy bending up his legs, digging in his heels, and shoving.

“Father! Father!”

Sorez had heard the cry before. He felt the girl beating at him with her white hands. The raft was beginning to settle. In the heavy fall of the two men a section had been loosened so that now it might possibly hold two of them––no more. The girl realized this; the man realized this. Sorez knew nothing save his determination to drag the Priest to the bottom with him.

“Let him go!” shouted the girl. “Let him go! He is my father! Can’t you hear?”

The words penetrated just as he was about to shove once more.

“Your father?”

“Quick! We are sinking!”

He let go. The Priest sprang to his feet. The canoe had gone and the loosely constructed raft was settling as timber after timber freed itself. Sorez, himself again, saw this. Without a word he shoved once more,––this time himself alone. He went down and the raft floated. He had kept his word after all; he had given the girl her father.