Then, as he answered not, I shook him roughly, in my terror and amazement, and he turned,—turned like a savage dog that is disturbed,—and snapped at my hand. His lips drew back over his white teeth in an angry snarl, a beast-like snarl, and I, sick with horror, let go my hold, and there, with the same smile of cruel, conscious sovereignty, by my side stood Lah.
Then the rage that was in me broke loose; and forgetting everything, her womanhood with her power, I saw only the foul wrong that had been wrought upon the body of my friend, and I seized her soft arm in my hand, and gripped it savagely.
“Cursed sorceress,” I cried, “this is your work!”
For an instant the Queen’s eyes blazed, and had I not been beside myself with rage, I needs must have blanched before them; then a look of wonderful sweetness came into her face, and she said, with simple dignity, in the language of her people:—
“I will cure your friend.”
I let go my hold and such a flood of mingled feeling overbore me, that I knew not what to do or say, or what construction to put upon the matter.
My usual slow thinking but unmoved self was far from me. I was on fire with new thoughts, new feelings, that I knew not how to meet.
I turned from my friend, crouched in bestial fear in the royal presence, to the red marks that I had just brought in my blind fury to the satin surface of the Queen’s beautiful bare arm.
Then, with an effort, I shook off the spell of Lah’s wonderful presence. I felt myself once more my own master. My eyes looked into her eyes, and I did not flinch.
“Is this your work?” I asked.