of his trembling knees, and the row of black figures that stood between,
dissuaded him at once. He would have screamed for help, but remembering
the emptiness of the vast building, and the loneliness of the situation,
he understood that no help could come that way, and he kept his lips
closed. He stood still and did nothing. But he knew now what was coming.

Two of the Brothers approached and took him gently by the arm.

"Bruder Asmodelius accepts you," they whispered; "are you ready?"

Then he found his tongue and tried to speak. "But what have I to do with
this Bruder Asm--Asmo--?" he stammered, a desperate rush of words
crowding vainly behind the halting tongue.

The name refused to pass his lips. He could not pronounce it as they
did. He could not pronounce it at all. His sense of helplessness then
entered the acute stage, for this inability to speak the name produced
a fresh sense of quite horrible confusion in his mind, and he became
extraordinarily agitated.

"I came here for a friendly visit," he tried to say with a great effort,
but, to his intense dismay, he heard his voice saying something quite
different, and actually making use of that very word they had all used:
"I came here as a willing _Opfer_," he heard his own voice say, "and _I
am quite ready_."

He was lost beyond all recall now! Not alone his mind, but the very
muscles of his body had passed out of control. He felt that he was
hovering on the confines of a phantom or demon-world,--a world in which
the name they had spoken constituted the Master-name, the word of