scarlet lips parted, and her startled eyes fixed upon the white-draped sibyl.

“Executioner! Bend your bow!” cried Amochol, with a terrible stare at the Sorceress.

The man in woven armour raised his bow, bent it, drawing the arrow to the tip. At the same instant the Prophetess rose to her feet, flung back her cowl, and looked Amochol steadily in the eyes from the shadow of her hair.

So, for a full minute in utter silence, they stared at each other; then Amochol said between his teeth:

“Have a care that you read truly what my people dream!”

“Shall I lie?” she asked in even tones. And, quivering with impotent rage and superstition, the Red Priest found no word to answer.