from the chill which is always present at these heights when the
sun sets, - and it was beautiful as a house not made with hands.
There was a sense of awe but no fear as I went slowly up the
great steps and into the gloom beyond and so gained the hall.

The moon went with me and from a carven arch filled with marble
tracery rained radiance that revealed and hid. Pillars stood
about me, wonderful with horses ramping forward as in the Siva
Temple at Vellore. They appeared to spring from the pillars into
the gloom urged by invisible riders, the effect barbarously rich
and strange - motion arrested, struck dumb in a violent gesture,
and behind them impenetrable darkness. I could not see the end of
this hall - for the moon did not reach it, but looking up I
beheld the walls fretted in great panels into the utmost
splendour of sculpture, encircling the stories of the Gods amid a
twining and under-weaving of leaves and flowers. It was more like
a temple than a dwelling. Siva, as Nataraja the Cosmic Dancer,
the Rhythm of the Universe, danced before me, flinging out his
arms in the passion of creation. Kama, the Indian Eros, bore his
bow strung with honey-sweet black bees that typify the heart's
desire. Krishna the Beloved smiled above the herd-maidens
adoring at his feet. Ganesha the Elephant-Headed, sat in massive
calm, wreathing his wise trunk about him. And many more. But all
these so far as I could see tended to one centre panel larger
than any, representing two life-size figures of a dim beauty. At
first I could scarcely distinguish one from the other in the
upward-reflected light, and then, even as I stood, the moving
moon revealed the two as if floating in vapor. At once I
recognized the subject - I had seen it already in the ruined
temple of Ranipur, though the details differed. Parvati, the