"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
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