is revolver on
his knee. Prompted by he knew not what, he slipped the silk cord into
the table drawer and turned the key upon it.

As he did so a hand crept over his shoulder--followed by a bare arm of
the hue of old ivory--a woman's arm!

Transfixed he sat, his eyes fastened upon the ring of dull metal,
bearing a green stone inscribed with a complex figure vaguely
resembling a spider, which adorned the index finger.

A faint perfume stole to his nostrils--that of the secret incense; and
the ring was the ring of the Witch-Queen!

In this incredible moment he relaxed that iron control of his mind,
which, alone, had saved him before. Even as he realised it, and strove
to recover himself, he knew that it was too late; he knew that he was
lost!

* * * * *

Gloom ... blackness, unrelieved by any speck of light; murmuring,
subdued, all around; the murmuring of a concourse of people. The
darkness was odorous with a heavy perfume.

A voice came--followed by complete silence.

Again the voice sounded, chanting sweetly.

A response followed in deep male voices.

The response was taken up all around--what time a tiny speck grew, in
the gloom--and grew, until it took form; and out of the darkness, the
shape of a white-robed woman appeared--high up--far away.

Wherever the ray that illumined her figure emanated from, it did not
perceptibly dispel the Stygian gloom all about her. She was bathed in
dazzling light, but framed in impenetrable darkness.

Her dull gold hair was encircled by a band of white metal--like
silver, bearing in front a round, burnished disk, that shone like a
minor sun. Above the disk projected an ornament having the shape of a
spider.

The intense light picked out every detail vividly. Neck and shoulders
were bare--and the gleaming ivory arms were uplifted--the long slender
fingers held aloft a golden casket covered with dim figures, almost
undiscernible at that distance.

A glittering zone of the same white metal confined the snowy
draperies. Her bare feet peeped out from beneath the flowing robe.

Above, below, and around her was--Memphian darkness!

Silence--the perfume was stifling.... A voice, seeming to come from a
great distance, cried:--"On your knees to the Book of Thoth! on your
knees to the Wisdom Queen, who is deathless, being unborn, who is dead
though living, whose beauty is for all men--that all men may die...."

The whole invisible concourse to