I saw Skor pound on the table with his fist. All the guests looked up. Skor raised a goblet, and the guests did likewise. "To the jong!" he cried. "To the jong!" repeated the guests. "Drink!" commanded Skor, and the guests drank. Then Skor addressed them. It was not a speech; it was a monologue to which all listened. In it occurred what Skor evidently considered an amusing anecdote. When he had narrated it he paused, waiting. There was only silence. Skor scowled. "Laugh!" he snapped, and the guests laughed--hollow, mirthless laughs. It was then, with those laughs, that my suspicions were aroused. When Skor finished his monologue there was another silence until he commanded, "Applaud!" Skor smiled and bowed in acknowledgment of the ensuing applause just as though it had been spontaneous and genuine. "Eat!" he commanded, and the guests ate; then he said, "Talk!" and they commenced to converse. "Let us be gay!" cried Skor. "This is a happy moment for Morov. I bring you your future queen!" He pointed to Duare. There was only silence. "Applaud!" growled Skor, and when they had done his bidding he urged them again to be gay. "Let us have laughter," he bid them. "Starting at my left you will take turns laughing, and when the laughter has passed around the table to the future queen you will start over again." The laughter commenced. It rose and fell as it passed around the table. God, what a travesty on gayety it was! I had passed closer until I stood directly behind Skor's chair. Had Duare turned her eyes in my direction she must have seen me, but she did not. She sat staring straight before her. Skor leaned toward her and spoke. "Are they not fine specimens?" he demanded. "You see I am coming closer and closer to the fulfillment of my dream. Do you not see how different are all the people of Kormor from the mean creatures at my castle? And look at these, the guests at my table. Even their eyes have the semblance of real life. Soon I shall have it--I shall be able to breathe full life into the dead. Then think what a nation I can create! And I shall be jong, and you shall be vadjong." "I do not wish to be vadjong," replied Duare. "I only wish my liberty." A dead man sitting across the table from her said, "That is all that any of us wishes, but we shall never get it." It was then his turn to laugh, and he laughed. It was incongruous, horrible. I saw Duare shudder. * * * * * Skor's sallow face paled. He glowered at the speaker. "I am about to give you life," cried the jong angrily, "and you do not appreciate it." "We do not wish to live," replied the corpse. "We wish death. Let us have death and oblivion again--let us return to our graves in peace." At these words, Skor flew into a fit of rage. He half rose, and drawing a sword struck at the face of the speaker. The keen blade laid open an ugly wound from temple to chin. The edges of the wound gaped wide, but no blood flowed.