‘It may not have been a white woman,’ said Edgar. ‘Carved as this is, one could not tell whether the original was black or white. It is an alabaster figure, or looks like it.’ He touched the figure on the face with his hand, and drew it back suddenly. ‘It feels quite hot,’ he said.
‘Probably so intensely cold that you imagined for the moment it burned you,’ said Will.
Edgar touched the face again, but, strange to say, could not keep his hand upon it.
‘You try,’ he said; and Will put his hand out.
Yacka saw the motion, and called out:
‘Touch her not! Only one must touch her.’
Will smiled as he said:
‘I will do her no harm, Yacka.’
‘At your own risk,’ said the black, ‘touch her, but do not blame me; I warned you.’
Will put out his hand again, and then a strange thing happened. Before he touched the face his feet slipped, and he fell off the slab with such force that, his head coming into violent contact with the stone, he was stunned.