The appearance of the speck on the horizon had marked the height of
her trance. Her recognition of Mrs. Sin had signalized the decline of
the chandu influence. Now, the intrusion of a definite, uncontorted
memory was evidence of returning cerebral activity.
Rita had no recollection of the sunset; indeed, she had failed to
perceive any change in the form and position of the shadow cast by the
foliage. It had spread, an ebony patch, equally about the bole of the
tree, so that the sun must have been immediately overhead. But, of
course, she had lain watching the parrakeets for several hours, and
now night had fallen. The desert mounds were touched with silver, the
sky was a nest of diamonds, and the moon cast a shadow of the palm
like a bar of ebony right across the prospect to the rim of the sky
dome.
Mrs. Sin stood before her, one half of her lithe body concealed by
this strange black shadow and the other half gleaming in the moonlight
so that she resembled a beautiful ivory statue which some iconoclast
had cut in two.
Placing her burden upon the ground, Mrs. Sin knelt down before Rita
and reverently kissed her hand, whispering: "I am your slave, my poppy
queen."
She spoke in a strange language, no doubt some African tongue, but one
which Rita understood perfectly.
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