Down came the clenched hands to her sides, then up again above her head,
and, as I am a living and honourable man, the white flame of the fire
leapt up after them, almost to the roof, throwing a fierce and ghastly
glare upon _She_ herself, upon the white figure beneath the covering,
and every scroll and detail of the rockwork.

Down came the ivory arms again, and as they did so she spoke, or rather
hissed, in Arabic, in a note that curdled my blood, and for a second
stopped my heart.

"Curse her, may she be everlastingly accursed."

The arms fell and the flame sank. Up they went again, and the broad
tongue of fire shot up after them; and then again they fell.

"Curse her memory--accursed be the memory of the Egyptian."

Up again, and again down.

"Curse her, the daughter of the Nile, because of her beauty.

"Curse her, because her magic hath prevailed against me.

"Curse her, because she held my beloved from me."

And again the flame dwindled and shrank.

She put her hands before her eyes, and abandoning the hissing tone,
cried aloud:--