Death; look to it that one meets not you too, when you come at last. But come, in the name of all the fiends, and play your last card. There’s your cursed beauty still. Come, and let the King behold your face once more” — The rest was hidden.

I put out my hand and touched him upon the shoulder, and he raised his head and stared at me as at one come from the grave.

Over one side of his face, from temple to chin, was drawn and fastened a black cloth; the unharmed cheek was bloodless and shrunken, the lip twisted. Only the eyes, dark, sinister, and splendid, were as they had been. “I dig not my graves deep enough,” he said. “Is she behind you there in the shadow?”

Flung across a chair was a cloak of scarlet cloth.