that same ordered, intelligent motion. Behind it the red light
pressed, like skirmishers on the heels of a retreating army.

"And yet--" faltered the handmaiden as we passed into her chamber, and
doubtful were the eyes she turned upon the O'Keefe.

"I don't believe," he said, "there's a kick left in them--"

What was that sound beating into the chamber faintly, so faintly? My
heart gave a great throb and seemed to stop for an eternity. What was
it--coming nearer, ever nearer? Now Lakla and O'Keefe heard it, life
ebbing from lips and cheeks.

Nearer, nearer--a music as of myriads of tiny crystal bells, tinkling,
tinkling--a storm of pizzicati upon violins of glass! Nearer,
nearer--not sweetly now, nor luring; no--raging, wrathful, sinister
beyond words; sweeping on; nearer--

The Dweller! The Shining One!

We leaped to the narrow window; peered out, aghast. The bell notes
swept through and about us, a hurricane. The crescent strand was once
more a ferment. Back, back were the _Akka_ being swept, as though by
brooms, tottering on the edge of the ledge, falling into the waters.
Swiftly they were finished; and where they had fought was an eddying
throng clothed in tatters or naked, swaying, drifting, arms tossing
--like marionettes of Satan.

The dead-alive! The slaves of the Dweller!