.. and _someone_ would have her in his arms, to
hold her safe from harm! If the will of the awful Chinaman threatened
to swamp her individuality, then--there was Chunda Lal!
But because of his helpless, unselfish love, she hesitated even at the
price of remaining alone again with Fo-Hi, to demand any further
sacrifice of the Hindu. Furthermore--he might fail!
The lacquer door slid noiselessly open and Fo-Hi entered. He paused,
watching her.
"Ah," he said, in that low-pitched voice which was so terrifying--"a
_gaziyeh_ of Ancient Egypt! How beautiful you are, Miska! You
transport me to the court of golden Pharaoh. Miska! daughter of the
moon-magic of Isis--Zara el-Khala! At any hour my enemies may be
clamoring at my doors. But _this_ hour is mine!"
He moved at his customary slow gait to the table, took up the keys ...
and locked both doors!
Miska, perceiving in this her chance of aid from Chunda Lal utterly
destroyed, sank slowly upon the _diwan,_ her pale face expressing the
utmost consternation. Suppose the police did not come!
Fo-Hi dropped the keys on the table again and approached her. She
stood up, retreating before him. He inhaled sibilantly and paused.
"So your 'acceptance' was only a trick," he said. "Your loathing of
my presence is as strong as ever. Well!" At the word, as a volcano
leaps into life, the hidden fires which burned within this terrible
man leapt up consumingly--"if the gift of the flower is withheld, at
least I will grasp the Dead Sea Fruit!"
He leapt toward Miska--and she fled shrieking before him.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251