Show us what thou art, thou flitting night-owl, who thinkest to frighten me with that livery of death, which only serves to hide the death within." "Cease, I pray lady, cease," said Oros, stirred for once out of his imperturbable calm.

"She is the Minister, none other, and with her goes the Power." "Then it goes not against Atene, Khania of Kaloon," she answered, "or so I think.

Power, forsooth! Let her show her power.

If she has any it is not her own, but that of the Witch of the Mountain, who feigns to be a spirit, and by her sorceries has drawn away my guests"-- and she pointed to us--"thus bringing my husband to his death." "Niece, be silent!" said the old Shaman, whose wrinkled face was white with terror, whilst Oros held up his hands as though in supplication to some unseen Strength, saying--"O thou that hearest and seest, be merciful, I beseech thee, and forgive this woman her madness, lest the blood of a guest should stain the hands of thy servants, and the ancient honour of our worship be brought low in the eyes of men." Thus he prayed, but although his hands were uplifted, it seemed to me that his eyes were fixed upon our guide, as ours were.

While he spoke, I saw her hand raised, as she had raised it when she slew or rather sentenced the witchdoctor.