livid. He uttered a cry of rage and gave a swift command to two

attendants by his side. Instantly the symmetry of the procession was broken, and Alan and Desmond were bound with rope and dragged away. It was all done so quickly that they had no time to resist.

The little girl had watched the scene with wondering eyes, and when she realized the whole purport, flung herself into Alan’s arms. The priest issued another quick command, and with the little one holding fast to her rescuer’s hand, she obviously told the story of her escape.

When she had finished the priest kissed her tenderly, and then knelt low before the two boys and kissed their feet. Then they were given places in a litter behind the high priests and were taken to the temple—this time as honoured guests.

They were led to the altar, and very suspiciously and timidly seated themselves on the steps, one on either side, which the high priest indicated to them. The ceremonial service was very long and tedious, but was unaccompanied by any sacrificial rites, much to the satisfaction of the two boys.

Then the priest stood facing the people, and held out a hand to each of the boys who stood shamefaced and awkwardly beside him. There followed an address, and the boys knew it was the story being told to the people of the rescue by Alan.

When the priest had finished speaking, he bent down and kissed their hands, and wildly the congregation flocked to the altar rail to follow his example. They were accepted by the whole community as friends. Their lives were no longer in jeopardy. Then the boys resumed their seats and the ceremony of the temple was concluded.

During the service Alan’s eyes were riveted on some peculiar characters that were inscribed on the walls, at intervals, as far as eye could reach. It was a group of hieroglyphics repeated over and over again, and there was something oddly familiar about them—yet he was unable to guess exactly what it was. Then the people’s voice rose in song—he listened intently. Again and again were the words repeated like a chorus and almost unconsciously he committed the sounds to memory.

Soon the service was ended and in triumph they were led back to Kaweeka’s house. She met them with renewed wiles and charm, but the boys were strong and she left them alone with rage in her heart. They ate the food that was placed before them in silence, a silence which Alan broke by saying abruptly, “Could you make out anything of the last hymn the people kept singing over and over again in the temple, Dez?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, could you understand it?”

Desmond looked surprised. “Of course not,” he laughed. “Could you?”

Alan did not answer the question, but asked another.

“Well, they sung it over a good many times—didn’t you memorize the sounds?”

Desmond thought a minute, “I think I did,” he replied. “It sounded something like:

“_Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn._” “_Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn._”

Alan pulled a scrap of paper triumphantly out of his pocket and showed it to his cousin. He had written down the exact phonetic spelling of the words Desmond had said.

“All the same, I don’t see what you are driving at,” he demurred, “you look confoundedly pleased over something.”

“I’ve been working out a theory, and I don’t think I am far wrong in the decision I have arrived at. Now look at that,” and he handed him another piece of paper on which were written the following signs:

Desmond looked at it quizzically for a moment, and then said, “Why, you’ve copied down the signs that are painted all around the walls of the temple—in the great Fire Hall.”

“Right. Now can you translate it?”

Desmond laughed. “Of course not. Can you?”

“I think so,” said Alan confidently.

“What?” almost shouted Desmond in amazement.

“Now,” went on Alan. “You got your first in Theology at Cambridge—translate this”—and he passed Desmond a third slip of paper with other signs on it:

‏אבירם‏‎. דתן‏‎.

Desmond looked at it carefully. “I’ve almost forgotten,” he commenced. Then—“why it’s Hebrew—Hebrew for Abiram and Dathan!”

“Now I want you to think carefully, Dez,” and Alan placed the two slips of paper on which were written the characters, before him. “Now would you not swear that _this_,” pointing to the characters copied from the temple, “is a corruption of _that_?”—pointing to the Hebrew.

“Well it certainly looks as if it might easily be so,” admitted Desmond.

“Now think of the few words we picked up of that hymn to-day. Isn’t it within the bounds of possibility that Har-ju-jar is a corruption of Hallelujah, or Alleluia?”

“Ye-e-es.”

“And Har-Barim and Kar-Tharn a corruption of Abiram and Dathan?”

“Ye-es.”

“Well,” concluded Alan triumphantly, “this is the conclusion I have come to. The language of these people is a corruption of Hebrew.”

“What?”

“I’m certain of it, and I am surprised we never thought of it before. Of course it was our first visit to the temple to-day since I came here, and I never noticed those signs before—but to-day as I looked at them they seemed oddly familiar, and it suddenly dawned on me in a flash. Now we ought to find it very easy to pick up the patois they speak—we both used to know something of Hebrew in the old days at college.”

They were almost too excited to say much more, when suddenly Alan brought his hand down on the table with a bang that made Desmond start.

“I’ve got it, Dez old boy,” said he.

“Got what?”

“Why think of your Bible. In the—let me see—oh never mind—somewhere in Numbers, I think, we get the story of Korah, Abiram and Dathan.”

“Oh my dear Alan, I am afraid I have forgotten it long ago.”

“Never mind,” went on Alan excitedly. “It’s the sixteenth chapter, if I remember rightly. I’ll remind you of it—Don’t you remember the Chosen People rose up against Moses—”

“Well?”

“I can’t remember the exact verses but somewhere in the chapter it tells you that the ‘earth was torn asunder, and swallowed up the three men with their houses and everything that appertained unto them, and they went down _alive_ into the pit, and the earth closed over them.’”

Desmond looked bewildered and remained silent.

“Don’t you see the connection, Dez?”

“No! I do not.”

“Well, here are people living in the bowels of the earth, and in their temple they have inscribed in bad Hebrew, if I may so put it, the names of Abiram and Dathan. What more likely than that these people are the descendants of those poor unfortunates of the Old Testament who perished some fourteen hundred and ninety years before Christ?”

“Is it possible?” asked Desmond breathlessly.

“Why not?” answered his cousin. “The Bible story ends there. We’re simply told that they went into the pit _alive_—we are never told that they died! Now we are convinced that they speak a corrupt Hebrew, we ought to find it very easy to learn to speak to them, and then we will bid for freedom.”

“Alan,” said Desmond suddenly. “I wonder whether your theory is correct. We’ve got Abiram and Dathan right enough, but what about Korah? He was the chief offender and yet there is no trace of his name.”

“I expect his name has been lost during the transit of time,” said Alan. “At any rate I am tired now, and I shan’t bother any more about it for the present. Let’s go to sleep,” and the two boys went into their inner chamber and were soon fast asleep.

There was no night in this terrible underworld; the purple lights never went out; morning and evening were unknown. The place was never plunged into entire darkness—true, the inhabitants went to sleep, but they pleased themselves as to when they slept and for how long. The whole world was never at rest at the same time—truly, indeed, it was an unholy place of unrest!

The two men were fast asleep, the purple light shining across their, faces, and Alan moved restlessly, for his dreams were troubled ones.

Suddenly the door opened gently and a figure appeared—it was Kaweeka. Softly she crept across their room, and halted by the side of their couches. A fierce light came into her eyes as she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Alan’s chest as he breathed heavily. She bent over him, kissed his lips, and murmured savagely as she did so—

“So desired—so desirable—yet I so undesired!”