The Greatest Works of Abraham Merritt. Abraham Merritt

that hidden left arm and thrown over her face a fold of the metallic swathings. Swifter than Yolara, she raised the arm that held the vine — and now I knew this was no inert blossoming thing.

      It was alive!

      It writhed down her arm, and its five rubescent flower heads thrust out toward the priestess — vibrating, quivering, held in leash only by the light touch of the handmaiden at its very end.

      From the swelling throat pouch of the monster behind her came a succession of the reverberant boomings. The frogmen wheeled, raised their lances, levelled them at the throng. Around the reaching ruby flowers a faint red mist swiftly grew.

      The silver cone dropped from Yolara’s rigid fingers; her eyes grew stark with horror; all her unearthly loveliness fled from her; she stood pale-lipped. The Handmaiden dropped the protecting veil — and now it was she who laughed.

      “It would seem, then, Yolara, that there IS a thing of the Silent Ones ye fear!” she said. “Well — the kiss of the Yekta I promise you in return for the embrace of your Shining One.”

      She looked at Larry, long, searchingly, and suddenly again with all that effect of sunlight bursting into dark places, her smile shone upon him. She nodded, half gaily; looked down upon me, the little merry light dancing in her eyes; waved her hand to me.

      She spoke to the giant frog-man. He wheeled behind her as she turned, facing the priestess, club upraised, fangs glistening. His troop moved not a jot, spears held high. Lakla began to pass slowly — almost, I thought, tauntingly — and as she reached the portal Larry leaped from the dais.

      “ALANNA!” he cried. “You’ll not be leavin’ me just when I’ve found you!”

      In his excitement he spoke in his own tongue, the velvet brogue appealing. Lakla turned, contemplated O’Keefe, hesitant, unquestionably longingly, irresistibly like a child making up her mind whether she dared or dared not take a delectable something offered her.

      “I go with you,” said O’Keefe, this time in her own speech. “Come on, Doc!” He reached out a hand to me.

      But now Yolara spoke. Life and beauty had flowed back into her face, and in the purple eyes all her hosts of devils were gathered.

      “Do you forget what I promised you before Siya and Siyana? And do you think that you can leave me — me — as though I were a choya — like HER.” She pointed to Lakla. Do you —”

      “Now, listen, Yolara,” Larry interrupted almost plaintively. “No promise has passed from me to you — and why would you hold me?” He passed unconsciously into English. “Be a good sport, Yolara,” he urged, “You HAVE got a very devil of a temper, you know, and so have I; and we’d be really awfully uncomfortable together. And why don’t you get rid of that devilish pet of yours, and be good!”

      She looked at him, puzzled, Marakinoff leaned over, translated to Lugur. The red dwarf smiled maliciously, drew near the priestess; whispered to her what was without doubt as near as he could come in the Murian to Larry’s own very colloquial phrases.

      Yolara’s lips writhed.

      “Hear me, Lakla!” she cried. “Now would I not let you take this man from me were I to dwell ten thousand laya in the agony of the Yekta’s kiss. This I swear to you — by Thanaroa, by my heart, and by my strength — and may my strength wither, my heart rot in my breast, and Thanaroa forget me if I do!”

      “Listen, Yolara”— began O’Keefe again.

      “Be silent, you!” It was almost a shriek. And her hand again sought in her breast for the cone of rhythmic death.

      Lugur touched her arm, whispered again, The glint of guile shone in her eyes; she laughed softly, relaxed.

      “The Silent Ones, Lakla, bade you say that they — allowed — me three tal to decide,” she said suavely. “Go now in peace, Lakla, and say that Yolara has heard, and that for the three tal they — allow — her she will take council.” The handmaiden hesitated.

      “The Silent Ones have said it,” she answered at last. “Stay you here, strangers”—-the long lashes drooped as her eyes met O’Keefe’s and a hint of blush was in her cheeks —“stay you here, strangers, till then. But, Yolara, see you on that heart and strength you have sworn by that they come to no harm — else that which you have invoked shall come upon you swiftly indeed — and that I promise you,” she added.

      Their eyes met, clashed, burned into each other — black flame from Abaddon and golden flame from Paradise.

      “Remember!” said Lakla, and passed through the portal. The gigantic frog-man boomed a thunderous note of command, his grotesque guards turned and slowly followed their mistress; and last of all passed out the monster with the mace.

      CHAPTER XXI

       LARRY’S DEFIANCE

       Table of Contents

      A clamour arose from all the chambers; stilled in an instant by a motion of Yolara’s hand. She stood silent, regarding O’Keefe with something other now than blind wrath; something half regretful, half beseeching. But the Irishman’s control was gone.

      “Yolara,”— his voice shook with rage, and he threw caution to the wind —“now hear ME. I go where I will and when I will. Here shall we stay until the time she named is come. And then we follow her, whether you will or not. And if any should have thought to stop us — tell them of that flame that shattered the vase,” he added grimly.

      The wistfulness died out of her eyes, leaving them cold. But no answer made she to him.

      “What Lakla has said, the Council must consider, and at once.” The priestess was facing the nobles. “Now, friends of mine, and friends of Lugur, must all feud, all rancour, between us end.” She glanced swiftly at Lugur. “The ladala are stirring, and the Silent Ones threaten. Yet fear not — for are we not strong under the Shining One? And now — leave us.”

      Her hand dropped to the table, and she gave, evidently, a signal, for in marched a dozen or more of the green dwarfs.

      “Take these two to their place,” she commanded, pointing to us.

      The green dwarfs clustered about us. Without another look at the priestess O’Keefe marched beside me, between them, from the chamber. And it was not until we had reached the pillared entrance that Larry spoke.

      “I hate to talk like that to a woman, Doc,” he said, “and a pretty woman, at that. But first she played me with a marked deck, and then not only pinched all the chips, but drew a gun on me. What the hell! she nearly had me — MARRIED— to her. I don’t know what the stuff was she gave me; but, take it from me, if I had the recipe for that brew I could sell it for a thousand dollars a jolt at Forty-second and Broadway.

      “One jigger of it, and you forget there is a trouble in the world; three of them, and you forget there is a world. No excuse for it, Doc; and I don’t care what you say or what Lakla may say — it wasn’t my fault, and I don’t hold it up against myself for a damn.”

      “I must admit that I’m a bit uneasy about her threats,” I said, ignoring all this. He stopped abruptly.

      “What’re you afraid of?”

      “Mostly,” I answered dryly, “I have no desire to dance with the Shining One!”

      “Listen to me, Goodwin,” He took up his walk impatiently. “I’ve all the love and admiration for you in the world; but this place has got your nerve. Hereafter one Larry O’Keefe, of Ireland and the little old U. S. A., leads this party. Nix on the tremolo stop, nix on the superstition! I’m the works. Get me?”

      “Yes, I get you!” I exclaimed testily enough. “But to use your own phrase, kindly can the repeated references