listened to his rapid footfalls till they died in distance; then
there was no sound save his own breathing.

Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the heavy gloom, and he saw
that Corio had dropped him just at the edge of the rowers' pit. There
were white things down there--bones, pale as marble, scattered about
aimlessly. Could--could those bones join to make the rowers who would
arise with the night? It seemed absurd--_was_ absurd--yet he knew it
was so! He had seen too much to doubt it.

He rolled over on his back and stared upward into the shadows. He must
lie here helpless while Corio returned to Vilma--did with her as he
pleased! Perhaps he might even transform her into a blood-tainted
monster like himself! He saw her again in that room of ancient
splendor, spread-eagled to the bed; and the muscles corded in his
arms, and his lips strained white in a futile effort to break free.

Interminably he lay there waiting. The galley was damp with the
chilling dampness of a sepulcher, and the dampness penetrated deeper
and deeper. Clamping his jaws together to prevent their quivering, he
struggled against a rising tide of madness which gnawed at his reason.
His mind began to crunch and jangle like a machine out of gear,
threatening to destroy itself.

On and on in plodding indifference the stolid moments passed, till at
last Cliff realized that it was growing darker. He rolled over on his
side and stared into the galley pit, eyes fixed on the inert masses of
white. Soon they would move! Soon the undead would rise! His thoughts,
touched by the whips of dread, sped about like slaves seeking escape
from a torture pit. And abruptly out of the welter of chaotic ideas
came one straw of sanity; he seized it, his heart hammering with hope.

Those Persian sailors were armed! Their swords and knives were real,
for they cut flesh! Somewhere among their bones must lie sharp-edged
blades!

He struggled to the edge of the pit, let his feet drop over. As they
touched, he balanced precariously for an instant, then fell to his
knees. He peered feverishly about among white bones, moldering
garments, and rusted armor--and saw a faint glimmer of light on
pointed steel. He sank forward on his face in the direction of the
gleam, turned over, squirmed and writhed till he felt the cold blade
against his hands. He caught it between his fingers and began sawing
back and forth.

It was heart-breaking work. Age had dulled the weapon, and lo