ntly 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. Then she laid one hand upon the object
which she had carried on her head, and which now proved to be a large
lacquered casket covered with Chinese figures and bound by three hoops
of gold. It had a very curious shape.

"Do you command that the chest be opened?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Rita languidly.

Mrs. Sin threw up the lid, and from the interior of the casket which,
because of the glare of the moon light, seemed every moment to assume a
new form, drew out a bronze lamp.

"The sacred lamp," she whispered, and placed it on the sand. "Do you
command that it be lighted?"

Rita inclined her head.

The lamp became lighted; in what manner she did not observe, nor was
she curious to learn. Next from the large casket Mrs. Sin took another
smaller casket and a very long, tapering silver bodkin. The first casket
had perceptibly increased in size. It was certainly much larger than
Rita had supposed; for now out from its shadowy interior Mrs. Sin began
to take pipes--long pipes and short pipes, pipes of gold and pipes of
silver, pipes of ivory and pipes of jade. Some were carved to represent
the heads of demons, some had the bodies of serpents wreathed about
them; others were encrusted with precious gems, and filled the night
with the venomous sheen of emeralds, the blood-rays of rubies and golden
glow of topaz, while the spear-points of diamonds flashed a challenge to
the stars.

"Do you command that the pipes be lighted?" asked the harsh voice.

Rita desired to answer, "No," but heard herself saying, "Yes."

Thereupon, from a thousand bowls, linking that lonely palm to the remote
horizon, a thousand elfin fires arose--blue-tongued and spirituous. Grey
pencilings of smoke stole straightly upward to the sky, so that look
where she would Rita could discern nothing but these countless thin,
faintly wavering, vertical lines of vapor.

The dimensions of the lacquered casket had increased so vastly as to
conceal the kneeling figure of Mrs. Sin, and staring at it wonderingly,
Rita suddenly perceived that it was not an ordinary casket. She knew at
last why its shape had struck her as being unusual.

It was a Chinese coffin.

The smell of the burning opium was stifling her. Those remorseless
threads of smoke were closing in, twining themselves ab