Something stronger than hate swept her away like a leaf on the
river; something primeval that lives in the lonely pangs of
childbirth, that hides in the womb and breasts of the mother. It
was stronger than she. It was not the hated Mindoin - she saw
him no more. Suddenly it was the eternal Child, lifting dying,
appealing eyes to the Woman, as he clung to her knees. She did
not think this - she felt it, and it dominated her utterly. The
Woman answered. As if it had been her own flesh and blood, she
swept the panting body behind her and faced the man with uplifted
dagger and knew her victory assured, whether in life or death. On
came the horrible rush, the flaming eyes, and, if it was chance
that set the dagger against his throat, it was cool strength that
drove it home and never wavered until the blood welling from the
throat quenched the flame in the wild eyes, and she stood
triumphing like a war-goddess, with the man at her feet. Then,
strong and flushed, Maya the Queen gathered the half-dead boy in
her arms, and, both drenched with blood, they moved slowly down
the hall and outside met the hurrying crowd, with Dwaymenau, whom
the scream had brought to find her son.
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