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But no bricks and mortar fell to punish such an outburst.

“What have I done that I should be left here alone?” she continued. “I want to go along with aunt and uncle. You know I do. I can’t live here alone.”

But there was no answer. Gradually a calmer spirit came over her, together with a wish to find out that sphinx-like secret that wrapped itself in icy silence.

“What’s the good of making me want to talk if you won’t let me?” she asked.

Out of the vast silence a voice seemed to shape itself at last.

“Give up! Sacrifice!” it said.

It was such a very beautiful voice, and yet so very cold, that Rosalie shrank from it. Sacrifice was such a heathenish thing! Besides, what was there to sacrifice in the way of a tongue—she hadn’t got one, not a serviceable one, at any rate.

“The Serpent’s will comes first with all believers,” cried the same voice out of the silence.

“I wish we could agree,” said Rosalie, with no disrespect, and then fell a-thinking.

Yes. After all, it came to the old, old thing. A clashing of wills—one human, one divine—if such it could be called. And therein lay the only sacrifice that God or the Serpent ever needed. It meant the sacrifice of will.