Suddenly the light of a swinging lamp flashed from somewhere above her head, and one glance about her made Marion’s heart grow sick with horror.
A score or more of those gaunt-cheeked fellows were surrounding her, and as the first ray of the lamp fell upon her face, they all pressed forward and peered at her sharply.
In the onslaught which his companions made on him the fellow who was holding the cloth to Marion’s face dropped it from his fingers, and with the first clear breath Marion dashed to her feet and confronted them.
“Stand back! Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried, springing up on the divan, which stood directly under the hanging lamp.
In a second a dozen pairs of long, skinny hands were reached out for her, and as Marion felt them clutching her arms and body, she gave a shriek that awoke the echoes.
The next instant she reached up quickly and, with one blow of her white hand, shivered the glass of the lamp; then, with the flame blowing wildly in the draughts of the room, she broke it from its fastenings and began swinging it like a censer.
“Stand back!” she shouted again. “Don’t you dare to come nearer! I will burn your house down about your heads if you lay a finger upon me!”
As she spoke she waved the lamp closer to the draperies, and the Chinamen fell back and began chattering excitedly.
For just a second she held them at bay, while the glare from the lamp illumined her glorious features. Then, from directly over her head, there came a sharp, shrill whistle. As the Chinamen heard it they seemed to lose their wits entirely, and in an instant their beautiful prisoner was forgotten.
With shrieks and yells of rage they scrambled over each other, and then slunk like rats into the darkest corners.