Her widely opened eyes, visible even through the veil, were awful in their supernormal, significant beauty. _Was_ it Ailsa Brearley? I clenched my fists convulsively; I felt my reason tottering. As the luminous figure, so terrible in its perfect loveliness, moved slowly toward the inner door, with set gaze that was not for any about her, Doctor Fairbank wrenched himself from his chair and leapt forward. “Ailsa!” His voice came in a hoarse shriek. But it was drowned by a rumbling roar from Moris Klaw. “Look away! Look away!” he shouted. “The good God! Do not look at her! _Look away!_” The warning came too late. Fairbank had all but reached her side, when she turned her eyes upon him--looking fully in his face. With no sound or cry he went down as though felled with a mighty blow! She passed to the door of the inner room. It swung open noiselessly. A stifling cloud of some pungent perfume swept into the study; and the door reclosed. “Fairbank!” I whispered, huskily. “My God! he’s dead!” Moris Klaw sprang forward to where Fairbank, clearly visible in the soft light, lay huddled upon the floor. “Lift him!” he hissed. “We must get him out--before she returns--you understand?--before she returns!” Bending together, we raised the doctor’s inanimate body and half dragged, half carried him from the room. On the landing we laid him down and stood panting. A voice, clear and sweet, was speaking. I recognized neither the language nor the voice. But each liquid syllable thrilled me like an icy shock. I met Moris Klaw’s gaze, set upon me through the pince-nez. “Do not listen, my friend!” he said. Raising Fairbank, we dragged him into the first room we came to--and Klaw locked the door. “Here we remain,” he rumbled, “until something has gone back where it came from!” Fairbank lay motionless at our feet. Presently came the rattling. “It is the sistrum,” whispered Moris Klaw, “the sacred instrument of the Isis temples.” The sound passed--and faded. “Searles! Fairbank!”--it was Brearley’s voice, sobbingly intense--“do not _touch_ her! Do not _look_ at her!” The study door crashed open and I heard his sandals pattering on the landing. “Fairbank! Mr. Klaw! Good God! Answer me! Tell me you are safe!” Moris Klaw unlocked the door. Brearley, his face white as death and bathed in perspiration, stood outside. As Klaw appeared, he leapt forward, wild-eyed. “Quick! Did any one----” “Fairbank!” I said, huskily. Brearley pushed into the room and turned on the light. Fairbank, very pale, lay propped against an armchair. Moris Klaw immediately dropped on his knee beside him and felt his heart. “Ah, the good God! He is alive!” he whispered. “Get some water--no brandy, my friend--water. Then look to your sister!” Brearley plunged his trembling hands into his hair and tugged at it distractedly. “How was I to know!” he moaned, “how was I to know! There is water in the bottle, Mr. Klaw. Searles will come with me. I must look for Ailsa!”