"Don't move! The snake will not hurt any of you."

As she spoke she flicked again the lid of the basket. It fell on the
head of the serpent. Alethea-Belle touched the horror, which withdrew.
Then she picked up the basket, secured the lid, and spoke to the
huddled-up, terrified crowd--

"You tried to scare me, didn't you, and I have scared you." She
laughed pleasantly, but with a faint inflection of derision, as if she
knew, as she did, that the uncivilised children of the foothills, like
their fathers, fear nothing on earth so much as rattlers and--
ridicule. After a moment she continued: "I brought this here to-day as
an object-lesson. You loathe and fear the serpent in this basket, as I
loathe and fear the serpent which is in you." She caught the eyes of
the mutineers and held them. "And," her eyes shone, "I believe that I
have been sent to kill the evil in you, as I am going to kill this
venomous beast. Stand back!"

They shrank back against the walls, open-eyed, open-mouthed,
trembling. Alethea-Belle unfastened for the second time the lid of the
basket; once more the flat head protruded, hissing. Alethea-Belle
struck sharply.

"It is harmless now," she said quietly; "its back is broken."

But the snake still writhed. Alethea-Belle shuddered; then she set her
heel firmly upon the head.

"And now"--her voice was weak and quavering, but a note of triumph, of