King came out; but he was no longer the smiling, unctuous Celestial I had known. In that yelping, screaming clamor, I stopped to look at him in surprise.
He had fastened the mask upon his head and held the cymbals in one hand. With the other he dragged a package of fire-crackers six feet long, braided together in quadruple rows—there were as many there as in a hundred of the common Fourth-of-July packages. It was such an equipment as the Chinese use for their New Year's Day celebrations.
Before I could speak to him he had thrown the string into an empty barrel and had lighted the fuse. Immediately there was an uproar like a regiment of infantry firing at will. As soon as this was started, he took up his cymbals and began capering about, clanging them. The barking of the dogs rose frantically.
Surely, if anything could increase her excitement, this grotesque accession would, and I prepared for the last scene. The uproar inside now rivaled King's racket; Edna was screaming for help, and instantly it occurred to me that the dogs, who had always hated her, might be now upon her, and, if I did not act quickly, would tear her to pieces.
I tried the big door; it was held by something inside. Smashing in a window, sash, glass and all, with my naked fists, I climbed in and went through the harness-room to the carriage shed.
There she stood, now disarrayed to a shocking state, her shining golden skirt ripped half off, her bosom bare, her hair streaming. She was driven into a corner and was held there at bay by three snapping, yelping dogs. She had caught up a carriage whip and was slashing away so savagely that the collies dared not close with her, but I could see that it was only a question of a few minutes before she would collapse.
It was my Joy in face and form, remember! It was her face that was distorted with terror, her form that was draped in glittering rags, it was her voice that rose, shriek on shriek, above the din, till my blood ran cold. It was her voice that screamed to me for help before she was torn to pieces. Its terror will be with me always.
"Oh, help me! Help me!" she cried.
But I steeled myself for the coup de grâce. "Break the bone," I muttered, "and let it heal again!"
So I staggered to the great door, slipped the hasp and let in King, prancing, beating his cymbals, droning some savage chant. The sun shone full upon him, glinted on the brass cymbals and illuminated the red and white and black of his atrocious mask. He danced up to her, nearer and nearer. I watched her, spellbound.