"Lakshmi!" he murmured at last; and, as though the one word had broken a
charm which held them both paralyzed, she smiled, and the smile lit up the
Madonna face and made it as human as it had seemed divine.
[Illustration: "Lakshmi!" he murmured at last.]
"Forgive me," she began, speaking in English, "I am afraid I have
disturbed you, but--" She paused, apparently confused by the directness of
his gaze. The faint pink upon her cheek deepened.
"Who are you?" he demanded in his own tongue.
Her look of non-comprehension steadied him, at least outwardly, though it
did not check the fierce, painful beating of his pulses. He repeated the
question in pure though hesitating English.
"I am an Englishwoman," she answered at once, "and have lost my way. For
hours--it seems hours, at any rate--I have been wandering hither and
thither, trying to find my party, with whom I was enjoying an excursion.
By some chance I came across this temple, and hoped to meet some one who
might help me. You see, I am a stranger in this part of the world. I--I
hope I have done no wrong?"
She looked at him pleadingly, but he ignored her question. It never
occurred to him to doubt her explanation, or wonder at the unlikeliness of
the chance which should have led her through the intricate paths to this
hallowed spot.
"You are English?" he echoed. The fever in his blood was subsiding, but,
like some great crisis, it was leaving him changed.
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