She shuddered wildly and hid her beautiful face against Stuart's breast. He threw his arms about her.
"Tell me," he said.
"With the needle, he … inject …"
"Miska!"
Stuart felt the blood rushing to his heart and knew that he had paled.
"There is something else," she went on, almost inaudibly, "with which he gives life again to those he had made dead with the needle. It is a light green liquid tasting like bitter apples; and once each week for six months it must be drunk or else … the living death comes. Sometimes I have not seen Fo-Hi for six months at a time, but a tiny flask, one draught, of the green liquid, always comes to me wherever I am, every week … and twice each year I see him—Fo-Hi … and he …"
Her voice quivered and ceased. Moving back, she slipped a soft shoulder free of it s flimsy covering.
Stuart looked—and suppressed a groan.
Her arm was dotted with the tiny marks made by a hypodermic syringe!
"You see!" she whispered tremulously. "If I go, I die, and I am buried alive … or else I live until my body …"