"I would that I could help you," he whispered. "But what can I do
among all these fiends?"
"It is hard to die thus--so hard."
"Savitre, I am more compassionate than you think, and I have here a
draught which will send you into a deep sleep. The pain of death will
thus be saved you," Konmia broke in severely, holding a vessel toward
the girl.
"No, no!" Savitre shrieked, pushing the potent drink away. "I cannot!
Think how awful to awaken with the cruel flames wreathing round my
body, and my cries for help useless, deadened by the yells of those
people. I cannot--I will not die!"
Satzavan, deathly white, and with quivering features, drew her
shuddering frame closer to him, and led her into the temple.
"Leave us for a moment, I implore you," he said, turning to his aunt.
"She loves me, and I may perhaps reconcile her to her fate."
"You are the head of your family; I trust to you to bring her to
reason--to save the honor of a name until now without blemish," Konmia
replied, and placing the poisonous flask in Satzavan's hand, she left
them alone in the temple.
"Quick, Savitre; we will drink this draught together, and when they
seek you, they will find us both cold in death.
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