Before she had finished speaking, Rachel suddenly squeezed her friend’s hand with a tight clasp.
“Look! Look!” she whispered, scarcely able to speak for excitement. For the strangest thing was happening. A kind of pearly mist was gathering to form the missing body of the horse, and presently out of the mist, his face, no longer a marble one, but quivering with life, looked out. He shook his head and the metal curb in his mouth rattled as he fixed his great dark liquid eyes upon the children.
“He’s coming down,” cried Diana, half excited, half afraid.
Quickly she leapt back to make room for him, dragging Rachel with her.
In less than a second, with a bound so rapid that they could scarcely see how he left the pedestal, a graceful, beautiful white horse stood on the pavement before them, gently pawing the ground, and moving his head slowly from side to side.
And then, marvel of marvels, he spoke.
“Have no fear, O little ones,” they heard, in a tone soft, yet distinct. “I am here at the bidding of your friend, Sheshà—greatest of magicians.”
Rachel glanced triumphantly at Diana, as if to say, “I told you so.” And the beautiful steed went on:
“For this one night I am your slave. Command me. What is it you wish to know, or to see?”
Diana pinched Rachel’s wrist as a sign for her to speak, and after a moment she said timidly: