To the right was a similar shelf,
on which lay some broidered coverings. Over the fire bent the figure of
a woman; she was sideways to me and facing the corpse, wrapped in a dark
mantle that hid her like a nun's cloak. She seemed to be staring at the
flickering flame. Suddenly, as I was trying to make up my mind what
to do, with a convulsive movement that somehow gave an impression of
despairing energy, the woman rose to her feet and cast the dark cloak
from her.
It was _She_ herself!
She was clothed, as I had seen her when she unveiled, in the kirtle of
clinging white, cut low upon her bosom, and bound in at the waist with
the barbaric double-headed snake, and, as before, her rippling black
hair fell in heavy masses down her back. But her face was what caught my
eye, and held me as in a vice, not this time by the force of its beauty,
but by the power of fascinated terror. The beauty was still there,
indeed, but the agony, the blind passion, and the awful vindictiveness
displayed upon those quivering features, and in the tortured look of the
upturned eyes, were such as surpass my powers of description.
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