a
caprice of her own rather than a result of my compulsion. Yet, I
thought, she must be crouched or kneeling beside me, on the floor, held
like the Lady of the Beautiful Tresses.

"Still, I doubt if you have the disposition to use your advantage," I
began.

"You mean, the cruelty," she corrected me.

"I am from New York," I smiled. "Let me say, the nerve. If you pressed
that knife, I might bleed to death, you know."

"Would you hear a story of a woman of my house, and her anger, before
you doubt too far?"

"Tell me," I consented; and smiled in the darkness at the transparent
plan to distract my attention from that imprisoned braid.

She was silent for so long that I fancied the plan abandoned, perhaps
for lack of a tale to tell. Then her voice leaped suddenly out of the
blackness that closed us in, speaking always in muted tones, but with a
strange, impassioned urgency and force that startled like a cry. The
words hurried upon one another like breaking surf.

"See! See! The fire leaps in the chimney; it breathes sparks like a
dreadful beast--it is hungry; its red tongues lick for that which they
may not yet have. Already its breath is hot upon the wax image on the
hearth. But the image is round of limb and sound. Yes, though it is but
toy-large, it is perfect and firm! See how it stands in the red shine:
the image of a man, cunningly made to show his stalwartness and strength
and bravery of velvet and lace! The image of a great man, surely; one
high in place and power. One above fear and beyond the reach of hate!

"The woman sits in her low chair, behind the image. The fire-shine is
bright in her eyes and in her hair. On either side her hair flows down
to the floor; her eyes look on the image and are dreadfully glad. Ha,
was not Beauty the lure, and shall it not be the vengeance?

"The nine lamps have been lighted! The feathers have been laid in a
circle! The spell has been spoken; the spell of Hai, son of Set, first
man to slay man by the Dark Art!

"The man is at the door of the woman's house. Yes, he who came in pride
to woo, and proved traitor to the love won--he is at her door in
weakness and pain.

"As the wax wastes, the man wastes! As the mannikin is gone, the man
dies!

"On her doorstep, he begs for life. He is coward and broken. He suffers
and is consumed. He calls to her the love-names they both know. And the
woman laughs, and the door is barred.

"The door is barred, but what shall bar out t