But others needed the quick wit and relentless purpose of Khodadâd; so almost ere dawn had passed to day, two or three horsemen came galloping from the city intent on finding help from the arch-conspirator.
"God and His Prophet!" faltered Mirza Ibrahîm shrinking back from the shoulder on which he had laid an awakening hand, "he is dead!"
Dead and cold. There was no sign of violence upon him; only on his neck two blue marks, mere signs as it were, of scratches about half an inch long.
"He has died in the night," said Ghiâss Beg with a shiver. "No one is to blame. God send he had time for a prayer."
But Mirza Ibrahîm clutched the complacent Lord High Treasurer by the arm and gasped:
"Look! Look!"
In front of the tent just beyond the ruffled carpet lay a square of white cloth and on it as if in blood, lay clear, distinct, the red marks of a horse's hoofs.
"'Tis the sign," he whispered, his face ashen gray. "The sign that judgment has been passed by his peers."
[CHAPTER XXI]
No strength of Hand, no strength of Foot have I,
To reach the restful Heaven of Thy Throne;
Yet can my soul's eyes gaze upon the Sky
And finding dream there, dream the Truth mine own
Even while wearied by its ceaseless Strife
I watch the Shuttle in the Loom of Life.