Then the coiled mass began to move—its head was raised and they could see its cold, glittering eyes; it seemed to be swaying as Karkotaka swayed in time to the chant. The clouds of incense grew thicker and they could scarcely see each other’s faces had they looked, but their eyes were held by the tableau on the stage, the kneeling, swaying, chanting priest and the reptile that swayed in response. Ever higher and higher reared the evil head, swaying always further and further toward the end of the semicircle at which Ruth and Pendragon were sitting. Ruth sensed his presence at her side and knew the tenseness of his waiting, but she dared not turn her eyes toward him for one moment. Higher and higher rose the chant until with a swift movement and a shout Karkotaka stood upon his feet. In the same moment the snake reared to its full height, hissing with open mouth toward them. In that instant Ruth shot. In the confusion she was conscious of thinking that she must have hit the snake right between the eyes, for it fell to the floor with scarcely a movement, and George stood, staring stupidly down at it. Every one was on their feet—every one speaking at once, though she could not understand what they said. She could only stare at the revolver in her hand. It all happened in such a swift moment—then her head was clear—Gloria had fainted—they were trying to give her air. Some one of the bewildered, frightened servants turned on the lights. Professor Pendragon strode past her, and though Ruth saw the smoking revolver in his hand, it carried no message to her brain. Thrusting aside Prince Aglipogue, who was kneeling futilely over Gloria, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out, and in the general excitement no one thought to wonder at his miraculous cure. Angela had followed Pendragon, but Ruth with the others stood gazing at the horrible enchantment. “Who did it?—who shot the thing?” she heard some one ask. “I did.” She held up her revolver. “I killed it.” “Let me see.” It was Terry standing beside her. He took the revolver from her hands. “Sorry, Ruth, but I’m afraid you didn’t. It was Pendragon. I was watching him and saw him aim and fire. It was a splendid shot even for an expert and at such short range, for the filthy brute was moving and he hit it right between the eyes. You see, child—” he opened the revolver for her to look—“there hasn’t been a single shot fired from your gun.” “Oh, I’m so glad.” And then, though she had never done anything so mid-Victorian in her life before, she swayed and for the smallest fraction of a second lost consciousness, then woke to the realization that Terry was supporting her and straightened up with protestations that she was all right. “But why did you, why did he do it? We were going to see something quite wonderful—I think the Indian snake dances are—”