His voice was deep, resonant, vibrating
like a bell. His eyes no longer suggested apology. They were strange,
flashing; the eyes of a religious fanatic; and balefully they were fixed
upon President Ham.
"Then wakes the power," the deep voice rumbled, "that in the age of iron
burst forth to curb the great and raise the low." He flung out his left
arm and pointed it at Billy.
"Mark where she stands!" he commanded.
With a sweeping, protecting gesture he drew a round Billy an imaginary
circle. The pantomime was only too clear. To the aged negro, who feared
neither God nor man, but only voodoo, there was in the voice and gesture
that which caused his blood to chill.
"Around her form," shrieked St. Clair, "I draw the awful circle of our
solemn church! Set but one foot within that holy ground and on thy
head--" Like a semaphore the left arm dropped, and the right arm, with
the forefinger pointed, shot out at President Ham. "Yea, though it wore
a CROWN--I launch the CURSE OF ROME!"
No one moved. No one spoke. What terrible threat had hit him President
Ham could not guess.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159