It was suddenly gone. We rose, much dazed. There was no sign of Beela at the window.
“It is over,” weakly said the king. “The worst in many years. And what has it done? It has terrified my people into madness. I see them.” He was losing self-control, and was staring as at a vision. “They are beginning to rise from the ground. Many are digging out of their ruined huts.... Their teeth are chattering. They look at one another in horror. No one has a sister, a brother, a father, a mother, a friend. All are blind and mad.... They run hither and thither. They——”
A confused screech and roar, as of wild animals driven to a focus by a surrounding forest fire, rang through the closed door of the room. The king listened.
“The palace servants,” he mumbled through quivering lips. “They are seeking me—their father and protestor. Imagine from this how the island is swarming and groaning, and with a terror that is half vengeance.”
The man was beside himself.
“Peace, Sire!” I begged, but he did not hear.
“The terror does not abate: it increases with the freer flow of their blood after the shock.... They are beginning to think. They look at one another and see their kind; then kindred and friends.... ‘The Black Face!’ says one, softly. ‘Ay, the Black Face!’ is the louder reply.”
The king stood with clasped hands and closed eyes.
“‘This is only the beginning,’ they say. ‘The Black Face has been denied while it looked down on abundance.’ Who has denied it? The heavens ring with the answer, ‘Our father whom we loved, our protector whom we trusted, our king whom we have thought a brother of the gods. Why has he flouted the Face and challenged its wrath? What terrors or witcheries have been wrought by the gods of the people in the valley, that our king has gone driveling behind his walls? ‘”
“Your Majesty!” I called, shaking him by the arm.