"This is some trap you set for me!" she whispered.
But Fo-Hi, paying no heed to her words, continued in the same rapt voice:
"Truly have you observed that the Chinese wife is but a slave to her lord. I have said that the relation of master and slave is ended between us. I offer you a companionship that signifies absolute freedom and perfect understanding. Half of all I have—and the world lies in my grasp—is yours. I offer a throne set upon the Seven Mountains of the Universe. Look into my eyes and read the truth."
But lower and lower she cowered upon the diwan.
"No, no! I am afraid!"
Fo-Hi approached her closely and abject terror now had robbed her of strength. Her limbs seemed to have become numbed, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth.
"Fear me no more, Miska," said Fo-Hi. "I will you nothing but joy. The man who has learned the Fifth Secret of Rache Churan—who has learned how to control his will—holds a power absolute and beyond perfectability. You know, who have dwelt beneath my roof, that there is no escape from my will." His calm was terrible, and his glance, through the green veil, was like a ray of scorching heat. His voice sank lower and lower.
"There is one frailty, Miska, that even the Adept cannot conquer. It is inherent in every man. Miska, I would not force you to grasp the joy I offer; I would have you accept it willingly. No! do not turn from me! No woman in all the world has ever heard me plead, as I plead to you. Never before have I sued for favours. Do not turn from me, Miska."
Slightly, the metallic voice vibrated, and the ruffling of that giant calm was a thing horrible to witness. Fo-Hi extended his long yellow hands, advancing step by step until he stood over the cowering girl. Irresistibly her glance was drawn to those blazing eyes which the veil could not hide, and as she met that unblinking gaze her own eyes dilated and grew fixed as those of a sleep-walker. A moment Fo-Hi stood so. Then passion swept him from his feet and he seized her fiercely.
"Your eyes drive me mad!" he hissed. "Your lips taunt me, and I know all earthly greatness to be a mirage, its conquests visions, and its fairness dust. I would rather be a captive in your white arms than the emperor of heaven! Your sweetness intoxicates me, Miska. A fever burns me up!"
Helpless, enmeshed in the toils of that mighty will, Miska raised her head; and gradually her expression changed. Fear was smoothed away from her lovely face as by some magic brush. She grew placid; and finally she smiled—the luresome, caressing smile of the East. Nearer and nearer drew the green veil. Then, uttering a sudden fierce exclamation, Fo-Hi thrust her from him.
"That smile is not for me, the man!" he cried gutterally. "Ah! I could curse the power that I coveted and set above all earthly joys! I who boasted that he could control his will—I read in your eyes that I am willing you to love me! I seek a gift and can obtain but a tribute!"
Miska, with a sobbing moan, sank upon the diwan. Fo-Hi stood motionless, looking straight before him. His terrible calm was restored.
"It is the bitter truth," he said—"that to win the world I have bartered the birthright of men; the art of winning a woman's heart. There is much in our Chinese wisdom. I erred in breaking the whip. I erred in doubting my own prescience, which told me that the smiles I could not woo were given freely to another … and perhaps the kisses. At least I can set these poor frail human doubts at rest."
He crossed and struck a gong which hung midway between the two doors.
Chapter 4 The Guile of the East
Her beautiful face a mask of anguish, Miska cowered upon the diwan, watching the closed doors. Fo-Hi stood in the centre of the great room with his back to the entrance. Silently one of the lacquered panels slid open and Chunda Lal entered. He saluted the figure of the veiled Chinaman but never once glanced in the direction of the diwan from which Miska wildly was watching him.
Without turning his head, Fo-Hi, who seemed to detect the presence of the silent Hindu by means of some fifth sense, pointed to a bundle of long rods stacked in a corner of the room.
His brown face expressionless as that of a bronze statue, Chunda Lal crossed and took the rods from their place.
"Tum samajhte ho?" (Do you understand?) said Fo-Hi. Chunda Lal inclined his head.
"Main tumhari bat manunga" (Your orders shall be obeyed), he replied.
"Ah, God! no!" whispered Miska—"what are you going to do?"
"Your Hindustani was ever poor, Miska," said Fo-Hi.
He turned to Chunda Lal.
"Until you hear the gong," he said in English.
Miska leapt to her feet, as Chunda Lal, never once glancing at her, went out bearing the rods, and closed the door behind him. Fo-Hi turned and confronted her.
"Ta'ala hina (come hither), Miska!" he said softly. "Shall I speak to you in the soft Arab tongue? Come to me, lovely Miska. Let me feel how that sorrowful heart will leap like a captive gazelle."
But Miska shrank back from him, pale to the lips.
"Very well." His metallic voice sank to a hiss. "I employ no force. You shall yield to me your heart as a love offering. Of such motives as jealousy and revenge you know me incapable. What I do, I do with a purpose. That compassion of yours shall be a lever to cast you into my arms. Your hatred you shall conquer."
"Oh, have you no mercy? Is there nothing human in your heart? Did I say I hate you!"
"Your eyes are eloquent, Miska. I cherish two memories of those beautiful eyes. One is of their fear and loathing—of me; the other is of their sweet softness when they watched the departure of my guest. Listen! Do you hear nothing?"
In an attitude of alert and fearful attention Miska stood listening. Fo-Hi watched her through the veil with those remorseless blazing eyes.
"I will open the door," he said smoothly, "that we may more fully enjoy the protests of one for whom you 'care nothing'—of one whose lips have pressed—your hand."
He opened the door by which Chunda Lal had gone out and turned again to Miska. Her eyes looked unnaturally dark by contrast with the pallor of her face.
Chunda Lal had betrayed her. She no longer doubted it. For he had not dared to meet her glance. His fear of Fo-Hi had overcome his love for her … and Stuart had been treacherously seized somewhere in the corridors and rendered helpless by the awful art of the thug.
"There is a brief interval," hissed the evil voice. "Chunda Lal is securing him to the frame and baring the soles of his feet for the caresses of the rod."
Suddenly, from somewhere outside the room, came the sound of dull, regular blows … then, a smothered moan!
Miska sprang forward and threw herself upon her knees before Fo-Hi, clutching at his robe frantically.
"Ah! merciful God! he is there! Spare him! spare him! No more—no more!"
"He is there?" repeated Fo-Hi suavely. "Assuredly he is there, Miska. I know not by what trick he hoped to 'deal with' Chunda Lal. But, as I informed you, Chunda Lal was forewarned."
The sound of blows continued, followed by that of another, louder groan.
"Stop him! Stop him!" shrieked Miska.
"You 'care nothing' for this man. Why do you tremble?"
"Oh!" she wailed piteously. "I cannot bear it … oh, I cannot bear it! Do what you like with me, but spare him. Ah! you have no mercy."
Fo-Hi handed her the hammer for striking the gong.
"It is you who have no mercy," he replied. "I have asked but one gift. The sound of the gong will end Dr. Stuart's discomfort … and will mean that you voluntarily accept my offer. What! you hesitate?" A stifled scream rang out sharply.