Again he opened his mouth, baring every tooth, voiceless, but unconquered.
Hercules, finding that affairs had come to a halt, slowly descended from his box, keeping his half-opened eyes upon the woman. Restlessly he began to pace before the outer door.
The slight figure withdrew several steps, then smote the rebellious lion a sharp blow across the mouth. He snapped viciously at the lash. It slipped away from between his teeth. Having rescued her whip, she shouted to the other lion, "Back to your place, Hercules. Hercules— back to your place!"
She stood pointing sternly toward the box, but Hercules stretched himself across the place of exit and lay watching her covertly.
The faces of the band boys had become of a yellowish paleness. They continued to pound and blow, but the music was not the same; a terrible foreboding brought a sense of faintness even to the boldest.
From behind the mask came the voice so loud that it sounded as a scream—"Up, Samson, up, Samson—UP!"
Then it was that Samson found his voice. A mighty roar shook the loosely-set bars of the central cage—they vibrated visibly. The roar did not come as one short sharp note of defiance; it rose and fell, then rose anew, varying in the inflections of the voice of a slave who dares to threaten, fears even while he threatens, and gathers passion from his fear.
At that fearful reverberation, the audience started up, panic- stricken. Hitherto, the last act had been regarded as a badly-played comedy; now tragedy was in the air.
Gregory and Grace Noir at that instant, became alive to their surroundings. Hitherto, despising the show, rebellious at the destiny which had forced them to attend it, they had been wholly absorbed in their efforts to escape observation. The roaring of the lion startled them to a perception of the general alarm.
Grace clung to Gregory. "Oh, save me!" she panted hysterically.