And in the sting and misery of
his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his
threatened idol:
Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.
And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to
the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had
been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long
minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the
starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he
counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that
swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for
tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had
crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to
blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of
defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began
once again the paean of victory and devastation. And presently
his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low,
yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight,
and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat.
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