and from the crowd there ran Cynthia, with her hair unbound, in terror and faintness.  Our guide opened the gate, and motioned us swiftly through, turning round to face the crowd, which now ran in upon us.  I saw him wave his arm; and then he came quickly through the gate and closed it.  He looked at us with a smile.  “Don’t be afraid,” he said; “that was a dangerous business.  But they cannot touch us here.”  As he said the word, there burst from the gardens behind us a storm of the most hideous and horrible cries I had ever heard, like the howling of wild beasts.  Cynthia clung to me in terror, and nearly swooned in my arms.  “Never mind,” said the guide; “they are disappointed, and no wonder.  It was a near thing; but, poor creatures, they have no initiative; their life is not a fortifying one; and besides, they will have forgotten all about it to-morrow.  Rut we had better not stop here.  There is no use in facing disagreeable things, unless one is obliged.”  And he led the way down the valley.

When we had got a little farther off, our guide told us to sit down and rest.  Cynthia was still very much frightened, speechless with excitement and agitation, and, like all impulsive people, regretting her decision.  I saw that it was useless to say anything to her at present.  She sat wearily enough, her eyes closed, and her hands clasped.  Our guide looked at me with a half-smile, and said: 

“That was rather an unpleasant business!  It is astonishing how excited those placid and polite people can get if they think their privileges are being threatened.  But really that Court was rather too much.  They have tried it before with some success, and it is a clever trick.  But they have had a lesson to-day, and it will not need to be repeated for a while.”

“You arrived just at the right moment,” I said, “and I really cannot express how grateful I am to you for your help.”

“Oh,” he said, “you were quite safe.  It was just that touch of temper that saved you; but I was hard by all the time, to see that things did not go too far.”

“May I ask,” I said, “exactly what they could have done to me, and what their real power is?”

“They have none at all,” he said.  “They could not really have done anything to you, except imprison you.  What helps them is not their own power, which is nothing, but the terror of their victims.  If you had not been frightened when you were first attacked, they could not have overpowered you.  It is all a kind of playacting, which they perform with remarkable skill.  The Court was really an admirable piece of drama—­they have a great gift for representation.”

“Do you mean to say,” I said, “that they were actually aware that they had no sort of power to inflict any injury upon me?”

“They could have made it very disagreeable for you,” he said, “if they had frightened you, and kept you frightened.  As long as that lasted, you would have been extremely uncomfortable.  But as you saw, the moment you defied them they were helpless.  The part played by Lucius was really unpardonable.  I am afraid he is a great rascal.”