e great rock
thudded down as the cask hurtled out into the mob; the next instant the
cavern shook and quivered to a terrific explosion; a moment after the
earth might have been dead for all sound in the passage; yet another
moment and the outer world rang with cries and shrieks, curses and
entreaties, and Milo bowed low to his mistress and said:

"Now if my Sultana deems fit, it is time to show this scum of the earth
their sovereign."

"Wait, Milo," replied Dolores, shuddering slightly at sight of him. The
giant was streaked and splashed with blood; for in those moments when he
stood defenseless before casting his infernal machine, a dozen cutlases
and knives had sought his life.

"Pardon thy slave," he returned, sensing her meaning. "I will go thus.
'Twere not good that these dogs should know their wounds can hurt. Such
scratches are nothing. They are paid for in full."

"It is well. Lead out again, good Milo, and fear not for me. With thou
beside me I am armed in proof."

Again they emerged into the air, but now a deathly silence received
them. Silence broken only by the rustling of garments, as a withered old
crone shambled forward and cast herself at Dolores's feet.

CHAPTER III.

THE GROVE OF MYSTERY.

Dolores stood still, sweeping the scene of destruction with a gaze of
flinty penetration. The groveling crone at her feet affected her like
something unclean, and she spurned the old woman with her foot, stepping
aside with a gesture of disgust. Then she raised her right hand, and
cried with bitter scorn:

"Come, my brave jackals! Come to the feast prepared for thee." She
lowered her hand and with a contemptuous smile indicated the gruesome
results of the explosion of Milo's awful bomb.

On the edge of the forest the hardier rascals had halted; at her word
they glared loweringly at her and the impassive giant at her back; from
the shadow of the trees yellow and brown and black faces peered in
quivering terror; but none responded to her command to approach her. The
old woman on the ground alone made audible reply, and her slavish
whining enraged Dolores. With a stamp of her sandaled foot she tore from
her waist the gold cord, slipped off the dagger sheath, and fell upon
the wretched old servitor with a shower of blows.

"Silence, old cat!" she cried, and the blows fell heavily. "Up with
thee, and away. Go quickly, and make ready the altar in the Grove of
Mystery. Cease thy bleating, old witch, an