“Erlik!” repeated Tressa insolently. “Who is Erlik but the servant of Satan who was stoned?” Her beautiful, angry lips were suddenly distorted; her blue eyes blazed. Then she spat, her mouth still tremulous with hatred. She said in a voice shaking with rage: “Yulun, beloved! Listen attentively. I have slain two of the Slayers of the Eight Towers. With God’s help I shall slay them all—all!—Djamouk, Yaddin, Arrak Sou-Sou—all!—every one!—Tiyang Khan, Togrul,—all shall I slay, even to the last one among them!” “_Sanang, also?_” “I leave him to God. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!” Yulun calmly paraphrased the cant phrase of the Assassins: “For it is written that we belong to God and we return to Him. Heart of gold, I shall execute my duty!” Then Yulun slipped from the edge of the bed to the floor, and stood there looking oddly at Tressa, her eyes rain-bright as though choking back tears—or laughter. “Heart of a rose,” she said in a suppressed voice, “my time is nearly ended.... So.... I go to the chamber of this strange young man who holds my soul like a pearl afire between his hands.... I think it it written that I shall love him.” Tressa rose also and placed her lips close to Yulun’s ear: “His name, beloved, is Benton. His room is on this floor. Shall we _make the effort_ together?” “Yes,” said Yulun. “Lay your body down upon the bed beside your lord who sleeps so deeply.... And now stretch out.... And fold both hands.... And now put off thy body like a silken garment.... So! And leave it there beside thy lord, asleep.” They stood together for a moment, shining like dewy shapes of tall flowers, whispering and laughing together in the soft glow of the night lamp. Cleves slept on, unstirring. There was the white and sleeping figure of his wife lying on the bed beside him. But Tressa and Yulun were already melting away between the wall and the confused rosy radiance of the lamp. Benton, in night attire and chamber-robe belted in, fresh from his bath and still drying his curly hair on a rough towel, wandered back into his bedroom. When his short, bright hair was dry, he lighted a cigarette, took the automatic from his dresser, examined the clip, and shoved it under his pillow. Then he picked up the little leather-bound Testament, seated himself, and opened it. And read tranquilly while his cigarette burned. When he was ready he turned out the ceiling light, leaving only the night lamp lighted. Then he knelt beside his bed,—a custom surviving the nursery period,—and rested his forehead against his folded hands. Then, as he prayed, something snapped the thread of prayer as though somebody had spoken aloud in the still room; and, like one who has been suddenly interrupted, he opened his eyes and looked around and upward. The silent shock of her presence passed presently. He got up from his knees, looking at her all the while. “You are Yulun,” he said very calmly.