As the door closed upon Chunda Lal, Miska stepped back from it and stood, unconsciously, in a curiously rigid and statuesque attitude, her arms pressed to her sides and her hands directed outward. It was the physical expression of an intense mental effort to gain control of herself. Her heart was leaping wildly in her breast—for the future that had held only horror and a living tomb, now opened out sweetly before her. She had only to ply her native wiles for a few precious moments … and someone would have her in his arms, to hold her safe from harm! If the will of the awful Chinaman threatened to swamp her individuality, then—there was Chunda Lal!  
But because of his helpless, unselfish love, she hesitated even at the price of remaining alone again with Fo-Hi, to demand any further sacrifice of the Hindu. Furthermore—he might fail!
 
The lacquer door slid noiselessly open and Fo-Hi entered. He paused, watching her.
 
"Ah," he said, in that low-pitched voice which was so terrifying—"a gaziyeh of Ancient Egypt! How beautiful you are, Miska! You transport me to the court of golden Pharaoh. Miska! daughter of the moon-magic of Isis—Zara el-Khala! At any hour my enemies may be clamoring at my doors. But this hour is mine!"
 
He moved at his customary slow gait to the table, took up the keys … and locked both doors!
 
Miska, perceiving in this her chance of aid from Chunda Lal utterly destroyed, sank slowly upon the diwan, her pale face expressing the utmost consternation. Suppose the police did not come!
 
Fo-Hi dropped the keys on the table again and approached her. She stood up, retreating before him. He inhaled sibilantly and paused.
 
"So your 'acceptance' was only a trick," he said. "Your loathing of my presence is as strong as ever. Well!" At the word, as a volcano leaps into life, the hidden fires which burned within this terrible man leapt up consumingly—"if the gift of the flower is withheld, at least I will grasp the Dead Sea Fruit!"
 
He leapt toward Miska—and she fled shrieking before him. Running around a couch which stood near the centre of the room, she sprang to the door and beat upon it madly.
 
"Chunda Lal!" she cried—"Chunda Lal!"
 
Fo-Hi was close upon her, and she turned striving to elude him.
 
"Oh, merciful God! Chunda Lal!"
 
The name burst from her lips in a long frenzied scream. Fo-Hi had seized her!
 
Grasping her shoulders, he twisted her about so that he could look into her eyes. A low, shuddering cry, died away, and her gaze became set, hypnotically, upon Fo-Hi. He raised one hand, fingers outstretched before her. She swayed slightly.
 
"Forget!" he said in a deep, guttural voice of command—"forget. I will it. We stand in an empty world, you and I; you, Miska, and I, Fo-Hi, your master."
 
"My master," she whispered mechanically.
 
"Your lover."
 
"My lover."
 
"You give me your life, to do with as I will."
 
"As you will."
 
Fo-Hi momentarily raised the blazing eyes.
 
"Oh, empty shell of a vanished joy!" he cried.
 
Then, frenziedly grasping Miska by her arms, he glared into her impassive face.
 
"Your heart leaps wildly in your breast!" he whispered tenderly.
"Look into my eyes…."
 
Miska sighed and opened her eyes yet more widely. She shuddered and a slow smile appeared upon her lips.
 
The lacquer screen making the window was pushed open and Chunda Lal leapt in over the edge. As Fo-Hi drew the yielding, hypnotised girl towards him, Chunda Lal, a gleaming kukri held aloft, ran with a silent panther step across the floor.
 
He reached Fo-Hi, drew himself upright; the glittering blade quivered … and Fo-Hi divined his presence.
 
Uttering a short, guttural exclamation, he thrust Miska aside. She staggered dazedly and fell prone upon the floor. The quivering blade did not descend.
 
Fo-Hi drew himself rigidly upright, extending his hands, palms downward, before him. He was exerting a superhuman effort. The breath whistled through his nostrils. Chunda Lal, knife upraised, endeavored to strike; but his arm seemed to have become incapable of movement and to be held, helpless, aloft.
 
Staring at the rigid figure before him, he began to pant like a man engaged in a wrestle for life.
 
Fo-Hi stretched his right arm outward, and with a gesture of hand and fingers beckoned to Chunda Lal to come before him.
 
And now, Miska, awakening as from a fevered dream, looked wildly about her, and then, serpentine, began to creep to the ............