ugh her, nor
that strange sensation in her hair. It was a thing of evil omen, and the
presage was already about to be fulfilled. The spirit of the dark woman
had arisen at the sound of the words in which he denied her; she had
risen and had come to claim her own, to rob Unorna of what seemed most
worth coveting on earth--and she could take him, surely, to the place
whence she came. How could Unorna tell that he was not already gone,
that his spirit had not passed already, even when she was lifting his
weight from the ground?

At the despairing thought she started and looked up. She had almost
expected to see that shadow beside her again. But there was nothing.
The lifeless bodies stood motionless in their mimicry of life under the
bright light. The swarthy negro frowned, the face of the Malayan woman
wore still its calm and gentle expression. Far in the background the
rows of gleaming skulls grinned, as though at the memory of their four
hundred lives; the skeleton of the orang-outang stretched out its long
bony arms before it; the dead savages still squatted round the remains
of their meal. The stillness was oppressive.

Unorna rose to her feet in sudden anxiety. She did not know how long
she had been alone. She listened anxiously at the door for the sound
of footsteps on the stairs, but all was silent. Surely, Keyork had not
taken him elsewhere, to his lodgings, where he would not be cared for.
That was impossible. She must have heard the sound of the wheels as
the carriage drove away. She glanced at the windows and saw that the
casements were covered with small, thick curtains which would muzzle
the sound. She went to the nearest, thrust the curtain aside, opened the
inner and the second glass and looked out. Though the street below was
dim, she could see well enough that the carriage was no longer there.
It was the bitterest night of the year and the air cut her like a knife,
but she would not draw back. She strained her sight in both directions,
searching in the gloom for the moving lights of a carriage, but she saw
nothing. At last she shut the window and went back to the door. They
must be on the stairs, or still below, perhaps, waiting for help to
carry him up. The cold might kill him in his present state, a cold that
would kill most things exposed to it. Furiously she shook the door. It
was useless. She looked about for an instrument to help her strength.
She could see nothing--no--yes--there was the iron-wood