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 CHAPTER XX

THE INCARNATE SPIRIT

In the middle of a discordant, frantic note, the scream of the conchs broke off abruptly; with one last brazen clash the cymbals ceased their harsh reverberations; with a rapid roll and patter, the throbbing beat of the drums dropped back into the silence; and Chun, stepping from beneath the state umbrella, which two of his henchmen had been holding over his head, walked alone up the three stone steps that led to the threshold of the inner shrine.

As he laid his hand upon one of the enormous metal bolts, by means of which the two heavy doors were secured, the musicians and the mob of armed quarrymen, who formed his escort, sank in squatting attitudes upon the flags, their heads bowed, their faces buried between their extended arms.

Chun stood still for a moment, glancing back at them over his shoulder.

With mingled scorn and satisfaction he noted how abjectly the people grovelled; and he drew pleasure and confidence from the know-