There was screeching of pipes, made of dead men's bones. A drum stretched with the skin of the hanged was beaten with the tail of a wolf. Like leaves in a howling storm the fantastic red robed forms whirled about, from left to right, from right to left. And in their midst, immobile and terrible, sat the Hircus Nocturnus, enthroned upon the shrine. When at last they stopped, panting, exhausted, the same voice, deafening as an earthquake, roared: "Bring hither the bride--the stainless dove!" A chorus of hideous laughter, a swelling, bleating cacophony of execration, so furious and real that it froze the listeners' blood, answered the summons. Then, from an arch in the apse of the infernal chapel, came four chanting figures, hideously masked and draped in crimson. With slow, measured steps they approached. The arch was black again. Deep silence supervened. Now into the centre came two figures. One was that of a man robed in doublet and hose of flaming scarlet. The figure he supported was that of a woman, though she seemed a corpse returned to earth. A long white robe covered her from head to toe, like the winding sheet of death. Her eyes were bound with a white cloth. She seemed unable to walk, and was being urged forward, step by step, by the scarlet man at her side. Again pandemonium reigned, heightened by the crashing peals of the thunder that rolled in the heavens overhead. "Emen Hetan! Emen Hetan! Palu! Baalberi! Emen Hetan!" The bleating of goats, the shrieks of the tortured damned, the howling of devils in the nethermost pit of Hell, delirious laughter, gibes and execrations mingled in a deafening chorus, which was followed by a dead silence, as anew the voice of the Unseen roared through the vault: "Bring hither the bride, the stainless dove!" There was a tramp of mailed feet. Like a human whirlwind it came roaring down the winding stairs, through the vomitories into the vault. The rattling of weapons, shouts of rage, horror and dismay mingled, resounding from the vaulted roof, beaten back from the marble walls. With drawn sword Tristan, well in advance of his companions, leaped into the chapel of Satan. When the identity of the staggering white form beside the scarlet man had been revealed to him, no power in heaven or earth could have restrained him. Without awaiting the signal he bounded with a choking outcry down the shaft. But, when he reached the floor of the chapel, he recoiled as if the Evil One had arisen from the floor before him, barring his advance. Before him stood Theodora. She wore a scarlet robe, fastened at the throat with a clasp of rubies, representing the heads of serpents. Her wonderful white arms were bare, her hands were clenched as if she were about to fly at the throat of a hated rival and a preternatural lustre shone in her eyes. "You!" Tristan's words died in the utterance as he surveyed her for the space of a moment with a glance so full of horror and disdain that she knew she had lost.