Part 40 (1/2)

I shuddered. This, at least, was no drawing-room diablerie.

”It is Ophis,” intoned Rapport, ”the Serpent--the one active form in Nature that cannot be ungraceful!”

The appearance of the basilisk seemed to heighten the tension.

At last it broke loose and then followed the most terrible blasphemies.

The disciples, now all frenzied, surrounded closer the priest, the gargoyle and the serpent.

They wors.h.i.+ped with howls and obscenities. Mad laughter mingled with pale fear and wild scorn in turns were written on the hectic faces about me.

They had risen--it became a dance, a reel.

The votaries seemed to spin about on their axes, as it were, uttering a low, moaning chant as they whirled. It was a mania, the spirit of demonism. Something unseen seemed to urge them on.

Disgusted and stifled at the surcharged atmosphere, I would have tried to leave, but I seemed frozen to the spot. I could think of nothing except Poe's Masque of the Red Death.

Above all the rest whirled Seward Blair himself. The laugh of the fiend, for the moment, was in his mouth. An instant he stood--the oracle of the Demon--devil-possessed. Around whirled the frantic devotees, howling.

Shrilly he cried, ”The Devil is in me!”

Forward staggered the devil dancer--tall, haggard, with deep sunken eyes and matted hair, face now smeared with dirt and blood-red with the reflection of the strange, unearthly phosph.o.r.escence.

He reeled slowly through the crowd, crooning a quatrain, in a low, monotonous voice, his eyelids drooping and his head forward on his breast:

If the Red Slayer think he slays, Or the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep and pa.s.s and turn again!

Entranced the whirling crowd paused and watched. One of their number had received the ”power.”

He was swaying slowly to and fro.

”Look!” whispered Kennedy.

His fingers twitched, his head wagged uncannily. Perspiration seemed to ooze from every pore. His breast heaved.

He gave a sudden yell--ear-piercing. Then followed a screech of h.e.l.lish laughter.

The dance had ended, the dancers spellbound at the sight.

He was whirling slowly, eyes protruding now, mouth foaming, chest rising and falling like a bellows, muscles quivering.

Cries, vows, imprecations, prayers, all blended in an infernal hubbub.

With a burst of ghastly, guttural laughter, he shrieked, ”I AM the Devil!”

His arms waved--cutting, sawing, hacking the air.

The votaries, trembling, scarcely moved, breathed, as he danced.

Suddenly he gave a great leap into the air--then fell, motionless. They crowded around him. The fiendish look was gone--the demoniac laughter stilled.

It was over.