Zarah stretched her arms above her head, yawned, listened for a moment to the barking of the dogs, then, struck with a premonition of impending disaster, awoke to her surroundings, struggled to a sitting position, and stared up at the unlit lamps and round the room in amazement.
Save for the faint light of the coming dawn, the place was in darkness and strangely still.
Who had blown out the lights? Where was Helen? What was the meaning of the dogs’ unrest at this hour, when they usually slept? Why was she weighed down with such an oppressive drowsiness?
She roused herself, swaying to her feet, stood for a moment bemused, then staggered forward and crashed into a great brass bowl filled with many fruits. It fell with a clatter, arousing her from the strange lethargy which seemed to cause the room to spin about her and to dull her active brain.
She stood watching the oranges and pomegranates, figs, apricots and peaches roll this way and that across the marble floor, then called for Helen.
Helen!
She shouted the name savagely, under the whip of her premonition, shouted it until the vaulted roof rang with her cries, shouted it until the echoes gave back the call.
Helen! Helen! Helen! a mocking voice seemed to shout back from the shadows.
In a flash enlightenment came to her, and with it the blindest rage that ever entered woman’s heart.