All unsuspecting of Bhanar’s treachery, Sesen had placed the little slave at the door to watch. Bhanar’s heart beat so violently that it well-nigh suffocated her. A glimpse of her mistress reaching out her fingers toward the statue, her mistress’ other self, struck suddenly a tardy repentance into the very soul of the despairing slave-girl. Suddenly Bhanar started. Three figures had turned into the narrow garden-path and were rapidly approaching. In the foremost of the three Bhanar recognized Bar the Memphite. Menna’s former spy was speaking in loud tones and violently gesticulating as he hurried the others up the path. Two archers of Prince Wozer’s guard strode behind him. Forgetful of herself, her jealousy and treachery, Bhanar shrieked aloud; “Renny! My Renny! Bar is here, Menna’s spy! Fly, while there is yet time!” At her first words, Renny leaped to the door. A glance showed him his old enemy. Who could have betrayed them? Hardly knowing what he would do, he drew the Princess down behind the festooned pedestal, covering her at the same time with its heavy wreaths and flowers. Even as he paused, rapidly scanning the effect, the outer door was burst violently open and the giant Bar pushed headlong into the room. In the doorway, looming large against the afterglow, Renny beheld the sturdy forms of the two archers. Bar shot a hasty glance at the statue, then ripped out an oath: “Dog, son of a dog, the Princess. Where is she?” With a smile upon his pale face, Renny slowly raised his hand and pointed to the statue. Then suddenly as Bar turned, he sprang straight at the Memphite and struck, alas, in vain, for his dagger broke short off against Bar’s hidden leather corslet. Realizing that his last moment had come, Renny slowly drew his long Asiatic sleeve across his bowed head. Motionless, he anticipated the arrow that trembled between the thumb and forefinger of one of the guardsmen who, at his sudden attack upon the Memphite, had moved up into the room. The twang of the bow thrummed in his ears, and, with it, a choking sob and the thud of a falling body. Quickly Renny threw aside the light covering from his face, dreading what his trembling heart too truly warned him he should see. With a cry of agony he dropped beside the limp body of the dead Bhanar. Gently he lifted her head, scanned her face, breathed her name. In vain! Too well had Wenamon’s arrow done its work! A few red feathers and an inch of reed showed just above the white robe of his little countrywoman. The rest of the long shaft was buried in her breast. Renny rose slowly to his feet. His gaze swept the terrified archers to the threshold of the door. With a roar like that of some southern panther maddened with its wounds, once more he hurled himself upon the treacherous Bar. His onslaught hurled the dagger from the nerveless hand of the horror-struck Memphite. For that worthy stood gazing, as if fascinated, at the upturned face of the dead Bhanar.