It was She herself!

She was clothed, as I had seen her when she unveiled, in the kirtle of clinging white, cut low upon her bosom, and bound in at the waist with the barbaric double-headed snake, and, as before, her rippling black hair fell in heavy masses down her back.  But her face was what caught my eye, and held me as in a vice, not this time by the force of its beauty, but by the power of fascinated terror.  The beauty was still there, indeed, but the agony, the blind passion, and the awful vindictiveness displayed upon those quivering features, and in the tortured look of the upturned eyes, were such as surpass my powers of description.

For a moment she stood still, her hands raised high above her head, and as she did so the white robe slipped from her down to her golden girdle, baring the blinding loveliness of her form.  She stood there, her fingers clenched, and the awful look of malevolence gathered and deepened on her face.

Suddenly I thought of what would happen if she discovered me, and the reflection made me turn sick and faint.  But, even if I had known that I must die if I stopped, I do not believe that I could have moved, for I was absolutely fascinated.  But still I knew my danger.  Supposing she should hear me, or see me through the curtain, supposing I even sneezed, or that her magic told her that she was being watched—­swift indeed would be my doom.

Down came the clenched hands to her sides, then up again above her head, and, as I am a living and honourable man, the white flame of the fire leapt up after them, almost to the roof, throwing a fierce and ghastly glare upon She herself, upon the white figure beneath the covering, and every scroll and detail of the rockwork.

Down came the ivory arms again, and as they did so she spoke, or rather hissed, in Arabic, in a note that curdled my blood, and for a second stopped my heart.

“Curse her, may she be everlastingly accursed.”

The arms fell and the flame sank.  Up they went again, and the broad tongue of fire shot up after them; and then again they fell.

“Curse her memory—­accursed be the memory of the Egyptian.”

Up again, and again down.

“Curse her, the daughter of the Nile, because of her beauty.

“Curse her, because her magic hath prevailed against me.

“Curse her, because she held my beloved from me.”

And again the flame dwindled and shrank.

She put her hands before her eyes, and abandoning the hissing tone, cried aloud:—­

“What is the use of cursing?—­she prevailed, and she is gone.”

Then she recommenced with an even more frightful energy:—­

“Curse her where she is.  Let my curses reach her where she is and disturb her rest.

“Curse her through the starry spaces.  Let her shadow be accursed.

“Let my power find her even there.

“Let her hear me even there.  Let her hide herself in the blackness.