"And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you—eh!
Tell us, how did the sand come there?"
She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us," he repeated in a low coaxing tone.
And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . red sand . . . it was below me . . . and something above . . . something like a great tent." She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands of people. . . ." She stopped.
"Yes, yes—there were thousands of people on the sand—"
"No, they were not on the sand. There were only two on the sand . . . the rest were around . . . under the tent . . . my arm was out . . . just like this. . . ."
The young man put a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord!" I heard him say, "the amphitheatre!"
"Come, sir," I interrupted, "I think we have had enough of this jugglery."
But the girl's voice went on steadily as if repeating a lesson:—
"And then you came—"
"I!" His voice rang sharply, and I saw a horror dawn in his eyes, and grow. "I!"