His mouth opened in dismay, and his eyes, roving to and fro, seemed to seek a door to escape.
But there was worse in store for him.

The curtains were drawn right and left with power, and there stood Grace Clifford, beautiful, but pale and terrible.

She marched toward him with eyes that rooted him to the spot, and then she stopped.
"Now hear _me_; for he has tortured me, and tried to kill me.

Look at his white face turning ghastly beneath his paint at the sight of me; look at his thin lips, and his devilish eyebrows, and his restless eyes.

THIS IS THE MAN THAT BRIBED THAT WRETCH TO FIRE THE MINE!" These last words, ringing from her lips like the trumpet of doom, were answered, as swiftly as gunpowder explodes at a lighted torch, by a furious yell, and in a moment the room seemed a forest of wild beasts.