She called loudly upon the god’s name.
Periphas laughed.
“Zeus is far away,” he said.
Byssa gazed wildly around the cave, expecting to see Lyrcus appear with spear and shield. But no living creature was visible far or near—naught save clouds and mountains.
Again Periphas laughed.
“No one is coming,” he murmured. “If you want to be saved, help yourself.”
The words darted into Byssa’s brain like a flash of lightning.
Yes!—it was “a voice of fate,” a sign sent by the gods, an answer to her appeal placed in Periphas’ mouth, without his suspecting it, by Zeus himself.
A thrill of emotion ran through her frame and with all the strength that animates a person who believes himself acting in the name of a god, she snatched the knife from the Pelasgian’s belt and with the speed of light drove it up to the hilt in his bare breast.
Periphas staggered back a step. He felt no special pain, he lost very little blood, yet he perceived that a change was taking place which could mean nothing but death.