Lycabetta laughed again, and her laughter seemed to run over her in waves of colored fire as her thin garments trembled on her body.
“My gardens are deep and dim and quiet. No sound from here would reach the world outside. No, not the death-cry nor the shriek of tortured flesh.”
Perpetua gazed at her as she might at some spirit of evil released at midnight to wreak its will upon the sinful. There was a great horror in her heart, but there was a great courage in her voice.
“Whoever you are, you cannot frighten me; you dare not keep me here.”
Lycabetta thrust her head a little forward, like a snake about to strike.
“You silly wood savage, you will be very tame presently,” she promised, in a low, hard voice.
“In the name of God I defy you, and I go,” Perpetua said, and turned to go out by the entrance through which she came.
“In the name of the devil you stay where you are,” Lycabetta cried, and clapped her hands.
Instantly the hangings that concealed the entrance parted, and the black giants entered and stood silently awaiting Lycabetta’s orders.