But somehow, when she came to try, she
couldn't. Her feet refused point blank to obey her will. And this
time, in her own heart, she knew very well why. For there in the
background, coiled up against the dense wall of rock and fern,
Sardanapalus lay knotted in sleepy folds, with his great ringed
back shining blue in the sunlight that struggled in round patches
through the shimmering foliage. More consciously now than even in
the train, the beautiful deadly creature seemed to fascinate Elma
and bind her to the spot. For a moment she hesitated, unable to
resist the strange, inexplicable attraction that ran in her blood.
That brief interval settled it. Even as she paused, Cyril glanced
round at the snake to note the passing effect of a gleam of light
that fell slantwise through the leaves to dapple his spotty back--and
caught sight of Elma. The poor girl gave a start. It was too late
now to retreat. She stood there rooted.
Cyril moved forward to meet her with a frankly outstretched hand.
"Good morning, Miss Clifford," he said, in his cheery manly voice.
"So you've dropped down by accident upon my lair here, have you?
Well, I'm glad you've happened to pass by to-day, for this, do you
know, is my very last morning.
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