"Thou hast a devil, Diswunt," he said at last, and once more the half-mad painter's high, reckless laugh filled the arches.
"So! thou canst see! Dost mark the Tarkhân's sneer, the Chamberlain's cold glare?"
It was true. Something in the noble poise of the stag's head was reminiscent of the King, and each one of the savage beasts surrounding it recalled by some witchery of touch or line the foremost of the King's enemies.
"Lo! yonder is the stupidity of the Makhdûm," went on Diswunt punctuating his words by that high laugh; "yonder the self-satisfaction of Budaoni, the fat foolishness of Ghiâss Beg." He paused, almost as if listening to the faint echo of his laughter in the roof. Then sudden seriousness came to him.
"But he will escape them, now. Dost see the javelin to the right yonder--that shall save him and his Luck."
The last word came curiously clear as if intended to awake remembrance. It did so.
"By'r Lady!" cried William Leedes, "I had a'most forgot." He was back in his workshop in a moment to find the diamond matrixed as ever in its place, with the darker sheen of the first facet showing full of promise.
But Diswunt stood at the lintel and looked out, not at the sunshine but at the door of the empty workshop next to William Leedes. It quivered slightly as if wind were behind it, or as if someone were gently closing a bolt.
[CHAPTER XIII]
Whirr spindles on my rushing reel
Leap thread from out my fingers feel.
Time dwindles! Fate will cut the thread
Sleep dead! Before her grinding wheel
Kindles life's spark again for woe or weal.