"Ah!" he said at length, "I see that thou growest warm, Mopo! Withdraw

thy hand from the flame. I am answered; thou hast passed the trial;

thy heart is clean; for had there been lies in it the fire had given

them tongue, and thou hadst cried aloud, making thy last music, Mopo!"

Now I took my hand from the flame, and for awhile the torment left me.

"It is well, O king," I said calmly. "Fire has no power of hurt on

But as I spoke I looked at my left hand. It was black, my father--

black as a charred stick, and the nails were gone from the twisted