Page:Doughty--Mirrikh or A woman from Mars.djvu/169

 just as were the others shown us the morning before. Only his face was visible; that never to be forgotten face, yellow  above, black beneath. I can see it before me now with terrible distinctness, wearing that same calm, peaceful expression which under all circumstances it ever wore. The eyes were closed, and when I placed my hands upon it the flesh was  icy cold. In all respects it resembled the face of a corpse.

Closing the drawer, Padma now led us to the altar and pointed to Maurice.

“Touch the face,” he said quietly, “You will find it like the other—yet he lives! ”

We both touched it. Here was the same clammy coldness, and my heart, which was beginning to feel a ray of hope,  again sank in despair.

Could I doubt that Maurice was dead ? Could I credit the aged lama’s claim?

Meanwhile the flame in the dish was blazing away as brightly as ever, shooting upward in slender tongues of crimson light.

Motioning for us to resume our places before the tripod, Padma stood over poor Walla and began making passes about  her head.

Merciful God! How I inwardly cursed him! I was powerless to raise a finger to stop it or to speak a word, yet in all else I seemed entirely master of myself. Did my own curiosity as to what was to come, afford the lever by which  my will was controlled?

A moment or two of this, and then Padma was at the tripod again, bowing reverently before the flame. I saw his face touch it—I saw him actually kiss it. The tongues of fire shot up all about him, played through the fringe of snow  white hair surrounding his tonsure, shot about his eyes, covering his whole face in fact, and yet he was not burned.

For several moments this continued, the Doctor pressing my arm in silent awe.

Suddenly the lama straightened up again and moved back to Walla’s side. The girl, meanwhile, had never changed her position nor even raised her head. Taking her hands he placed them against the sides of the bowl which contained  the black liquid and there they remained.

Again flitting back before the tripod, the aged lama raised his voice in. solemn chant, his eyes fixed upon a small scroll which he had taken from the box and unrolled.