"You mean, the cruelty," she corrected me. "I am from New York," I smiled. "Let me say, the nerve. If you pressed that knife, I might bleed to death, you know." "Would you hear a story of a woman of my house, and her anger, before you doubt too far?" "Tell me," I consented; and smiled in the darkness at the transparent plan to distract my attention from that imprisoned braid. She was silent for so long that I fancied the plan abandoned, perhaps for lack of a tale to tell. Then her voice leaped suddenly out of the blackness that closed us in, speaking always in muted tones, but with a strange, impassioned urgency and force that startled like a cry. The words hurried upon one another like breaking surf. "See! See! The fire leaps in the chimney; it breathes sparks like a dreadful beast--it is hungry; its red tongues lick for that which they may not yet have. Already its breath is hot upon the wax image on the hearth. But the image is round of limb and sound. Yes, though it is but toy-large, it is perfect and firm! See how it stands in the red shine: the image of a man, cunningly made to show his stalwartness and strength and bravery of velvet and lace! The image of a great man, surely; one high in place and power. One above fear and beyond the reach of hate! "The woman sits in her low chair, behind the image. The fire-shine is bright in her eyes and in her hair. On either side her hair flows down to the floor; her eyes look on the image and are dreadfully glad. Ha, was not Beauty the lure, and shall it not be the vengeance? "The nine lamps have been lighted! The feathers have been laid in a circle! The spell has been spoken; the spell of Hai, son of Set, first man to slay man by the Dark Art! "The man is at the door of the woman's house. Yes, he who came in pride to woo, and proved traitor to the love won--he is at her door in weakness and pain. "As the wax wastes, the man wastes! As the mannikin is gone, the man dies! "On her doorstep, he begs for life. He is coward and broken. He suffers and is consumed. He calls to her the love-names they both know. And the woman laughs, and the door is barred. "The door is barred, but what shall bar out the Enemy who creeps to the nine lamps? "See, the fire shines through the wax! The image is grown thin and wan. Three days, three nights, it has shrunk before the flames. Three days, three nights, the woman has watched. As the fire is not weary, she is not weary. As the fire is beautiful, she is beautiful. "The man is borne to her door again. He lifts up his hands and cries to her. But now he begs for death. Now he knows anguish stronger than fear. And the woman laughs, and the door is barred. "The fire shines on a lump of wax. The man is dead. From her chair the woman has arisen and stands, triumphant. "_But what crouches behind her, unseen? The lamps are cast down! The pentagram is crossed! The Horror takes its own._"