Sanson’s indomitable will flamed out. “I will not drink!” he cried, and flung the cup to the floor
She raised herself and looked wildly at me. Her face was ashen pale, the features pinched; dark rings had crept beneath her eyes.
“She gave me the—wrong cup,” she whispered.
I tried to go for aid, but Amaranth clung to me. “There is no hope,” she sobbed. “I must die. Stay with me, Arnold!”
Her head fell back and she breathed heavily. I turned and saw Coral beside me, a smiling, waxen doll, the new queen of the harem by the dying one.
“Go!” I thundered at her.
She shrugged her shoulders daintily and went, leaving the winecups on the floor.
Amaranth’s hand trembled upon my sleeve. I bent over her. Her eyes fixed themselves on mine.
“Put your hand under me,” she muttered; “raise me. All is lost now. Sanson has beaten Lembken, and everything is ended. Save your Elizabeth if you can.”
She drew my face toward hers and spoke in panting accents: