“And you, her lover, waste the time in idle words. You stand here prating, while the mob, maddened by the priests, fire the Palace and tear in pieces Lah, their Queen.”
I turned, stricken dumb by the horror of her words, and it was Lestrade who put the question that trembled on my lips.
“The hag is distraught or worse,” he said, with contempt. “Think not to cheat us by so clumsy a trick. Did not Agno himself at the wrestling do homage to the Queen?”
Hubla answered, but it was to me she spoke.
“If you have pity, hasten. By the gods I swear I tell nothing but the bare truth. This storm has set the people wild with fear, and the crafty priests have dared to say that Edba and Hed have sent it in punishment of the Queen’s sins. In mercy, come quickly, for the end is near.”
“And if we believe this likely tale,” sneered Lestrade, “what can one man do? what is my friend among so many?”
“The fire of the pit smite you!” raved the witch, beside herself with passion. Then once again she clung to me, beseeching, “Come; for she loves you.”
And I answered, “I will come.”
Then it was that Astolba spoke, and I knew not till then how pitiless can be a woman’s voice.
“Is this thing true?” she asked. “Promised to me as you are, do you love this woman?”