For a year and a day the steed destined for the sacrifice has wandered where he would. No man's hand has combed his mane; his mouth has never felt bit or bridle; to-day at noon he must bleed; and then Kehama grasps against the very will of Fate, the power which he desires.

It is high noon, and the many guards which, lest anything by chance should mar the sacrifice, have kept the victim in sight, contracts its circle, and drives him in towards the shrine. In long files before the temple court stand the Rajah's archers; between them„ starting and flinging up his head, moves on the untamed steed, and the multitude closes up the rear; while in front the white-robed Brahmins stand with the axe prepared with which Kehama is to complete the sacrifice.

Within the temple, on his golden couch, with the attendants fanning him with peacock plumes, lies the great Rajah, watching the perfumed light that measures out the hours as they pass. And now the time is come; the sun is at its height in the heavens; he rises from his couch and takes the axe in his hand, ready to strike the victim.

That instant with a loud cry sprang a man from out the crowd. A thousand archers loosed their bows, as they stood with their arrows at rest; not a shaft missed its aim. But it was in vain that they fell upon him, thick as a storm of hair. Kehama clasped his hands in agony as he saw the daring wretch grasp the horse's mane, spring with a sudden bound upon its back, and gallop furiously round and round.

They seized him; they dragged him to the Rajah's feet. What tortures are in store for him? What new punishment will the baffled tyrant invent? The multitude, standing silent, but with hatred and curses in their hearts, tremble to think. But the man himself is calm as death. There was even a ghastly smile upon his lips, and a dreadful hope in his eye. "Yes, Rajah," he cried, "it is I! Wilt thou kill me now?"

Kehama's face fell when he saw Ladurlad. "That wretch again!" he cried; and he struck his forehead, and stood awhile in silent rage. Then with a bitter smile he said: "Let him go; he has the curse; he can suffer nothing more. But ye," and he turned in fury to the archers, "ye who did not stop him, tremble ye."

Then he commanded the archers to pile their arms, and calling his horsemen, bade them hem in the offenders, and slay till not a man was left alive.

Once more Ladurlad, left to go whither he would, wandered away; and this time his feet carried him unwittingly to his own home. He found it deserted and desolate. As he sat and thought of his unhappy lot, and the child whom he had left and lost, he heard a sound of mocking laughter that seemed to come from the air, and looking up he saw the face of the dead Arvalan. Only the face it was, without a body, and the eyes shone with a lurid light as of sulphur. Well Ladurlad knew that hateful countenance, and seizing from the ground a blackened stake—it was the very stake with which he had slain him, and the dead man's blood was still upon it—he tried once and again to strike the spectre. Again the face laughed in scorn; then there seemed to come forth a hand, which caught the sun-beams, and turned its heat and light condensed upon Ladurlad. It was a useless cruelty! The stake fell from his hand, burned to white ashes, but the man felt no new pain. Kehama's curse had charmed him from such suffering, so fierce was the fire already in his heart and brain.

Then the spectre put out another hand, and a whirlwind came clown from the sky, and scooping up the sand like smoke, sent down the burning shower upon Ladurlad's head. Whichever way he turned, the accursed hand waved to guide the burning storm.

But help was at hand. Ereenia, his heavenly sword in hand, hastened down from the height. Thrice he drove it through the spectre, till the foul creature fled, howling with pain. Then he called the ship of heaven. Obedient to his word it came, and Kailyal in it; and there by the daughter's side he laid the father, still dizzy with the storm of burning sand.

Swift through the air the ship bore that happy company, Ladurlad, and Kailyal, and the Glendoveer, and carried them to the place where the persecuted father and child were to rest till the struggle between Kehama and the gods should be finished. There was some time of respite, for the final sacrifice had to be begun again from the beginning; and till this should be done, earth and heaven alike had peace.

One evening during this happy period the Glendoveer was displaying to Kailyal, as she sat by the spring of the holy river, his power of flight, spreading his dark-blue wings, and now gliding over the surface of the lake, now rising into the air, now diving into the depths of the water. Camdeo, the boy-god of Love, came by, riding on his parrot, having in his hand the bow of sugar-cane, the string of which is made of flowers, and the arrows are tipped with poison. He aimed a shaft at the Glendoveer, and struck him full on the breast, but the arrow dropped without harming him.

"Go!" cried the Glendoveer, "aim at idler hearts. My love for the maid is deeper than comes from thy arrows."

Meanwhile the god had aimed a second arrow at Kailyal; but before he could let it fly, the string broke in his hand.

"See!" cried the Glendoveer, again, "thou bast no power for mischief here."

So the days of rest passed by.