Satzavan, deathly white, and with quivering features, drew her
shuddering frame closer to him, and led her into the temple.

"Leave us for a moment, I implore you," he said, turning to his aunt.
"She loves me, and I may perhaps reconcile her to her fate."

"You are the head of your family; I trust to you to bring her to
reason--to save the honor of a name until now without blemish," Konmia
replied, and placing the poisonous flask in Satzavan's hand, she left
them alone in the temple.

"Quick, Savitre; we will drink this draught together, and when they
seek you, they will find us both cold in death."

"You also, my brother, speak of death! I must escape--I cannot
sacrifice my life!"

"Nor shall you," a gentle voice broke in passionately, and Lianor, her
face full of tender compassion, stood before the victim, Panteleone
beside her.

"Follow me," the latter said briefly, drawing the girl's arm through
his. "Trust us, and you will yet be saved."

With joyful hearts the two Indians accompanied their kind protectors,
climbing among the broken gods, higher and higher, until they at last
arrived without the temple, the other side from where the Indians were
assembled.