Behind it the red light
pressed, like skirmishers on the heels of a retreating army.
"And yet--" faltered the handmaiden as we passed into her chamber, and
doubtful were the eyes she turned upon the O'Keefe.
"I don't believe," he said, "there's a kick left in them--"
What was that sound beating into the chamber faintly, so faintly? My
heart gave a great throb and seemed to stop for an eternity. What was
it--coming nearer, ever nearer? Now Lakla and O'Keefe heard it, life
ebbing from lips and cheeks.
Nearer, nearer--a music as of myriads of tiny crystal bells, tinkling,
tinkling--a storm of pizzicati upon violins of glass! Nearer,
nearer--not sweetly now, nor luring; no--raging, wrathful, sinister
beyond words; sweeping on; nearer--
The Dweller! The Shining One!
We leaped to the narrow window; peered out, aghast. The bell notes
swept through and about us, a hurricane. The crescent strand was once
more a ferment. Back, back were the _Akka_ being swept, as though by
brooms, tottering on the edge of the ledge, falling into the waters.
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