“They come, they come, the greyhounds and the dogs of Billi. They mount the steps; their eyes shine in the dark; they are mad with rage; death hunts with them——” He turned and looked at Zarah, who stood like a pillar of stone, wrapped in her train.
She did not seem to count in this moment of great danger.
Helen, knowing the dogs’ inexplicable hatred of their mistress, turned and looked at her, the contempt in her eyes deepening to scorn as she saw the frozen look of fear in the Arabian’s eyes.
“The dogs have got out,” she said sharply. “Look! your men are running before them. Look! Wake up and do something. Order the doors to be shut or they’ll be in. Quick, Zarah!”
The Arabian took no notice. Lost in one of the visions which swept down upon her at times, she was looking into the future.
She stood stark with terror, her eyes wide and glassy, her crimson lips drawn back from her teeth, which chattered like gourds rattled by the wind. She shook from head to foot, and put out her hand and tried to speak as the dogs suddenly gave tongue.
She clutched at her throat and pointed to the door, and Helen, who did not understand, turned away from the picture of abject fear and held out her arms to her lover, who stood a prisoner in the hands of men who showed great signs of uneasiness as they looked at their mistress and then at the door.
Then Helen stamped her foot and shouted, so that the men who stood near the door turned towards her, then impeded each other in their haste as they tried to obey her.
“Shut the door!” she cried. “Keep them out! Quick! they’re almost at the top! Shut it! You’re too——”