"Saints of Israel! do you think that mummery saved them?"

"Surely yes, Monsieur; is it not so taught of our Order?"

I shall never forget the look upon Cairnes's face. At the moment I believed him wrestling with temptation to strike the helpless man, so irritated was he by these confident words of Romish faith. Determined to prevent discussion, I elbowed him aside, and bent down over the fastenings of the Jesuit.

"Enough of this," I said sternly, barely glancing at Cairnes. "Keep the rest of your Puritanical sermonizing for a conventicle. We have here a fellow-Christian to be rescued from the savages; this is no time to jangle over creeds."

"A fellow-Christian! I hold no fellowship with such; he is but an emissary of a false religion, a slave to the Evil One."

"Enough, I say," and I rose to my feet fronting him. "I care little which is right in doctrine, you or he. Here is a man begging aid of us in extremity. Surely the priest has suffered for the sake of Christ, regarding whom you speak so freely. So have done with dogma, and play the man a while—press here with your strength on this knife-blade until I bend back the metal and set him free."

He yielded, ungraciously enough, to my command, giving so good a turn to the steel with his vice-like fingers that in another moment the Jesuit was released from the wall. Slowly and painfully, clinging fast to my hand for aid, the man arose and stood before us, swaying wearily, his thin lips pressed tightly together as if he would stifle a cry of pain.

"Are you suffering?" I asked, greatly moved by the expression of agony imprinted on his pallid face.

"It will pass, Monsieur," he answered bravely, trying to smile at me. "'Tis strange the spirit of man is so enslaved to the flesh that one cannot wholly master a bit of physical pain. No doubt I am somewhat cramped from my long imprisonment, and, perchance, my wounds have not rightly healed."

"Are you wounded? I beg you permit me to attend to that. I possess some small skill in the bandaging and dressing of cuts."

His eyes rested upon me with all the tenderness of a woman.

"I truly thank you, Monsieur, but it is beyond your skill to aid me, even were you of the school of Paris. They be of a savage nature, which God alone may beautify."

He slightly lifted his long black robe as he spoke, and may the merciful Father forgive the oath which sprang to my lips as I gazed in horror at the disfiguration—two fleshless limbs, one without even the semblance of a foot, merely a blackened, charred stump rested on the rock floor.

"Mother of God!" I sobbed, "it has been burned off!"

"Ay," he returned, in all gentleness, covering the awful sight. "Yet were they gladly given for Christ's sake."

"I doubt that not," gazing in wonder at his girlish face. "But tell me, who were guilty of such fiendish cruelty—the savages of this tribe?"

"Two months ago it was done in the valley below, in the village of the Natchez," his eyes again upon the crucifix. "Yet dwell not upon it, Monsieur, for it is so little I can hope to do for the glory of God. It may be I am not even worthy of martyrdom."

"So the Natchez did that!" the breath hissing between my teeth. "Where was their gentle-hearted Queen?"

"I know not, Monsieur, if they have a Queen. I saw none exercising authority excepting priests of their strange worship. It was the chief priest who held me in the flame."

I crushed back the hot, useless words burning on my lips, and turned to look at the Puritan. We had conversed in English, and he must have comprehended every word, yet there was no softening in the glint of his hard, gray eyes.

"Hear you the priest's story, sirrah?" I asked, feeling strong inclination to vent my spleen on him for such bull-headedness. "Is he not one to honor rather than pick a quarrel with in such place as this?"

"'T is no quarrel I seek, nor am I like to question the fanatical courage of a Jesuit. But I tell you his teaching is false, an outrage on the true religion of the saints, and I am of a strain which can never companion with any of that black-robed breed. Call me what ye please, Master Benteen, but I am too old a man, too long indoctrined in the faith, ever to acknowledge brotherhood with hirelings of the Romish church."

"Companion with whom you please," I retorted savagely. "But I tell you this, preacher, and once for all,—you 'll bear yourself like a human being to this poor lad while I 'm with you, or else make answer to me. Is that plain? I care nothing for your dogma, or your hair-splitting, but I know what fair play is between man and man,—ay, and mean to have it here, even if it costs you a split head."

"I beg you will both be at peace, Messieurs," broke in the soft, caressing voice at my elbow. "There can be no cause for comrades quarrelling over me. I am not worthy a ruptured friendship. Yet I fail to understand any occasion for your seeming trouble; has the older man some reason to distrust my robe?"

"Reason! Saint George! 'tis precious little that ever bothers him. The fellow is a Puritan preacher—of the same breed as the Huguenots—and possesses a head as hard as an oaken plank."

I nearly laughed at the unrestrained expression of aversion which swept the girlish face. An instant the black eyes lost their gentleness, the thin fingers clutched the silver cross.

"Mother of God! a heretic! a preacher of that doctrine! Never before have I met his kind, nor do I care now to make close acquaintance. A Puritan! Sainte Marie, have mercy! Yet surely in such stress as this we may for the time overlook our differences in faith, and be as men together? Is it not God's will? But I know little of conditions. Is there some path open for escape from here? Then will I let this Puritan be, save for a prayer to the Virgin."

"I fear there is none, unless you know of some back opening to this rock hole."

He shook his head sadly, his gaze still on Cairnes.

"None, Monsieur; the passage endeth here."

"Then the three of us are safely cooped for those savages to work their will upon. No pleasant thought that, yet little good can arise from losing hope. For one, I fight it out, and let others do the praying. Let us retrace our way to the big room, where we can hold council in more comfort; perchance we may find yet some opening to the upper air. Cairnes, lay hold upon the other side, and help to bear back this lamed man to the altar."

I doubted greatly his compliance with my order, and determined to settle this affair between us without more delay. But he came forward, unwillingly enough and muttering.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE TALE OF THE PRIEST

With all possible tenderness we bore the slender form of the helpless priest along the dark, crooked passage, until we found a comfortable resting-place for him against the altar.

"I thank you much, Messieurs," he said simply, the depth of his gratitude apparent in uplifted dark eyes, glistening in the light of the fire. "Members of our Order are more accustomed to blows than kindness, so I have no words with which to express thanks for your care."

"Think nothing of it," I returned hastily, and then, observing how the Puritan drew back from beside him, added, "Master Cairnes, you might busy yourself hunting more food—it will be exactly in your line—while I attempt to bathe the limbs of the priest, and see what little may be done toward alleviating his pain."

The mere thought of eating was sufficient to put the Puritan in good humor, and he was soon diligently scouring nooks and corners with scent for provender as keen as that of a pointer dog. I noticed with curiosity how the motionless Jesuit followed the movements of his hulking figure as he passed back and forth amid the shadows, his dark eyes filled with wonder and aversion.

"'Tis truly a strange thing, Monsieur," the latter remarked soberly, "to meet with one pretending love for Christ, yet who hateth Mother Church, and dares make open mock of Her most holy offices. Thou didst name thy comrade Puritan?"

"Ay, of the same breed as the Huguenots of your country, rebels against the Pope."

He made the sign of the Cross.

"The curse of Holy Church is upon them all; they are condemned to hell," he exclaimed with fervor. "A vile pestilence to be stamped out; yet it would afford me joy beyond words could I save this man's soul from eternal torture, and lead him back into the true faith. Mother of God! what was it moved yonder?"

I glanced quickly about toward where he pointed, seeing the shadowed figure of our forgotten prisoner.

"'Tis only one of the savages we have captured and bound. He guarded this altar, ministering to the superstition of the tribe; an old man, perchance the very chief priest who held you in the flame."

I anticipated seeing the light of revenge leap into his eyes, but, instead, a rush of pity softened them, and before I could extend my hand to interfere, he crept across the intervening space, and bent over the fellow.

"A most cruel turn on the rope, Monsieur," he exclaimed, busying himself at the knot. "Surely the man will rest easier, and no less safely, with back propped against the rock. Nay, have no fear; I will keep him tied fast if that be your wish, yet I seek to relieve his pain so I may profitably converse with him upon the needs of his soul."

"With him! Saint George! he had small enough mercy on you."

"That is of the past, and abideth not in memory," and the white hands held up the crucifix into the light. "He who died on this Cross prayed, 'Father forgive, they know not what they do,' and who is Andre Lafossier, to be harsher than his Master?"

Not until after he had prayed long and earnestly, holding the silver cross ever before the wicked eyes of the unrepentant savage, did he permit me to bathe his disfigured limbs, dressing them as best I could with what rude materials I found at hand. Even while I worked he seemingly thought nothing of himself, but, oblivious to pain, his face was ever turned to the prisoner, his lips moving in petition for his soul. I caught but scattered sentences.

"Oh, Christ, this one—unworthy, yet I beseech Thee—Be merciful, O Virgin—out of the wilderness ariseth the voice of Thy servant—purge the soul of all past iniquity—yield me this one brand plucked from the burning—Thine be the glory forever—let my life be given for this soul—this one precious reward for my ministry."

A little later the three of us partook, although largely in silence, of the sustaining food which Cairnes furnished in abundance. Throughout the meal I felt it necessary to be ever watchful to prevent the two zealots, who were now my comrades, from clashing. Again and again the priest sought to lead the sectary to his way of thinking, but the gray face only hardened ominously, his bull voice denouncing bitterly all Romish deeds.

"Come, be at peace, you two," I commanded at last, thoroughly tired and angry. "Hold your tongues over those questions, at least while I am with you. Odds! I care nothing as to your Catholic or Protestant, your popes or preachers. Be done, and bear yourselves like men. I will no longer have you vexing the air with controversy while our very lives are hanging by a thread. There are other things to talk about just now. So, Cairnes, if you cannot bide quietly in our company, then stay here alone while I take the Jesuit out into the sunlight, where we can hold sensible counsel together."

Leaving the fellow growling to himself over the remnants of the meal, I bore the priest along the short passage, until we discovered a secure, comfortable resting-place outside, where our eyes could sweep the full extent of the wide valley. It was a quietly beautiful scene at this hour, the glow of the sun over all. We could distinguish gangs of slaves toiling in the fields, and a group of warriors, their spears glistening, clustered together before the gloomy altar-house. Yet my eyes barely rested upon either scene, for there, close beside the open door of the Queen's dwelling, my glance, sharpened by love, perceived the movements of a woman's apparel, and from the faint color of it, distinguishable, even at that distance in the sun glare, I knew I looked once more upon Eloise. It would be difficult to express in prosaic English with what intense relief I realized, through the evidence of my own eyes, her continued safety. It seemed years already since our last parting, when she had chosen to remain prisoner in those savage hands. Father of all! how I loved her then; how I yearned to have word with her, to read again the silent message of her pure eyes.

The priest was gazing silently far away up the valley. Busied with my own thoughts, forgetting him utterly, I kept my eyes eagerly, hungrily upon that single, far-off figure, until, finally, I saw her arise and disappear within the open door. I growled forth a bitter curse, observing the cause for retreat—a man and a woman slowly climbing the mound together. There was no doubt in my mind as to the identity of the Queen and De Noyan. Faith! but it would have pleased me then to put hand upon the false coxcomb and choke him back to decency and duty. The look of it was in my face, no doubt, as I stared down upon them in helplessness, for the Jesuit rested his fingers gently upon my arm, as though he would restrain my passion.

"There seemeth something below which angers you, my friend," he said softly. "'Tis a battle-light flaming in your eyes."

"'Tis the shame of it all which crazes me," I responded, trembling with passion, yet yielding to the influence of his presence. "You have not yet heard the story, so cannot rightly judge our position here."

As briefly as possible I reviewed the adventures of our little party since leaving New Orleans, and it was good to observe with what growing interest he followed the simple story, interrupting with but few questions until I reached the end. Then his soft hand closed warmly over mine, his eyes upon my face.

"It is a brave tale," he said kindly, "one not unworthy the days of knighthood. Yet, good friend, it is scarcely well for you to think thus tenderly regarding the wife of another. 'T is against the laws of Holy Church, and can only lead to harm and suffering. But, Mother of God! who am I to pass judgment?—I, who am also guilty of this sin."

He had uplifted his crucifix, sitting with bowed head before it, with so sad a face I could not forbear questioning.

"Have you, then, such another tale in your life?"

He did not look at me, yet hesitated not in reply.

"Ay, 'tis true, yet not so pure a one. I like not to dwell upon it even in thought; but you have trusted me, and we are here together as men of a common race in face of death. Perchance our hearts may better comprehend each other through such confidences. Do you care to hear my tale?"

"I listen gladly, for in truth I know of nothing better to do," I returned uneasily. "Pish! but I feel as if we were locked in a cell awaiting the headsman."

"Yet God can open the doors even as He did for Peter," he said solemnly, fastening his eyes on the blue sky. For a moment neither spoke; then the gentle voice took up the story, as if telling it over to himself.

"I was not always of the black robe; only six years since I wore the blue and gold of a soldier of France in the dragoon regiment of Auvergne. I came of good family, and was even known and trusted of the King. But let that pass. We were stationed at Saint-Rienes, in the south country, as fair a spot, Monsieur, as this world holds, yet strangely inhabited by those discontented under the faith of Holy Church. But we rode rough shod over all such in those days, for it was the will of the King to crush out heresy. 'Tis a pleasure to see the shrinking of a heretic before the wrath of God. Yet this tale has little to do with this service, however I love to dwell upon it. As I said, we were quartered in garrison at Saint-Rienes, and it was there I first met Marie Fousard, the girl wife of a Captain in His Majesty's Guard. She was a creature of beauty, Monsieur, with clear cheeks, lips of the rose, and great trustful eyes. I was but a boy then, she not much older in years, but with that knowledge of the world and of men which enabled her to make poor, blinded fool—her helpless slave for evil. Merciful Mary! how I did worship her! To me she was as an angel; divinity lurked in her smile and found utterance upon her lips. I could have died at her word, happy to know it was her pleasure. Yet, as I know now, all the love-making between us was no more than play to her; she merely sought to amuse herself with my passion through a dull season. No, not quite all, for back of her smiles lurked a purpose so dark, so diabolical, 'twas not strange I failed to fathom it. 'Tis hard to associate crime with such young womanhood, to feel that evil thoughts lurk behind eyes soft with love and lips breathing tenderness. Yet behind the outer angel of Marie Fousard there was a devil incarnate. I was blind, crazed, helpless to resist an evil I failed to perceive. I loved her; in that passion all else was lost. She had confessed love for me; in that was all the heaven I desired. Little by little she fanned within my heart a hatred for the man whose wife she was, my comrade in arms. I cannot relate the details, the stories of wrong, the lies, the upbraidings which turned my blood to flame, picturing him ever to me as a monster. Ah, it means much, Monsieur, when such things are told with tears, when every sob rings in the ears as though crying for vengeance. I listened, believing it all, until deep in my heart hate was born. Once she showed me her shoulder, the white flesh discolored as if by a blow, swearing that he did it. The sight maddened me to action. I left her to seek him at the inn, cursing in my teeth, and caring not what happened, so I killed him. What boots now the insult offered which forced him to the field? I can see his face yet, full of wonder at my words, doubting my very sanity; yet I saw only her and that bruised shoulder. I would kill him, and I did, running my sword through his body, and gazing down remorselessly into his glazing eyes. What cared I for aught but her? It was a duel, fairly fought, and I was safe from censure. God! in that hour it never came to me that it was foul murder; that I had stricken down an innocent man at the word of a harlot."

He stopped, his white face buried in his hands, his slender form trembling. I remained motionless. With an effort he resumed.

"I went back to her at our trysting-place, intoxicated by my deed, confident she would come to my arms in gratitude. Instead she laughed, tore from her face the mask of innocence, called me fool, boasted that she had merely used me for her own vile purposes. I shrank away, horrified by my deed, despising her, my love stricken dead. In that moment my life was changed; I cared for nothing except to get away from my fellows, to expiate my sin in the sight of God. I felt no interest in what became of her; I neither smiled nor wept, when, three days later, she married the prefect of that village. All was over; the fire within me had become ashes."

"But the woman? this Marie Fousard?"

"She went her way, the broad road leading to destruction. We met never again, yet I heard, for there were those eager to tell such things. A year, and the prefect was dead of poison, but, before the gendarmes learned the truth, the widow fled by night taking much property. One D'Anse was her paramour, a sub-lieutenant of hussars. 'T is all I know; they took ship together at Marseilles. Mother of Mercy! wherever she lives it will be under the spell of the Evil One. To my heart God hath brought peace, but for such as she there can be no peace; she hath been damned already."

I know not how long we sat there motionless, our eyes on the sunlit valley, our thoughts on past years. The father ran the beads swiftly through his white fingers, his lips moving noiselessly; but I found no such help, no such consolation in my struggle. His story was forever ended; mine was not, the very scene beneath bringing home to me anew the desperate burden. Oh, Eloise! Eloise! what of fate awaited us in the coming night shadows? What sacrifice of mine could bring to you life and liberty? It is one thing to rush headlong into danger; a vastly different one to sit awaiting disaster which it is impossible to avert. The desire to act, to attempt something, became an imperative passion, and I sprang to my feet.

"Come, pere," I broke forth impatiently, "let us get back inside. Before we are aware it will be night, and we must learn first if there is any chance for escape. We can dream no longer over the past. Saint George! the present holds sufficient work for us to do."

I bore him back in my arms and left him lying beside the savage priest, testing again on him the efficacy of prayer, while Cairnes and I fared forth to explore. We sought long and painfully, trying the walls for some concealed opening, groping in the corners, and squirming through narrow crevices. The effort was useless, except to convince us that the cavern had but the single entrance. All we discovered was an assortment of odd weapons, war-clubs and stone-tipped spears, collected in one corner of the gallery. Everywhere else were bare walls. Feeling like rats in a trap we dragged tired limbs back to the altar-room, our sole remaining hope a possible escape down the rocks under the early shadows of the night. This might be accomplished if sufficient time were granted us, and if the good Lord guided. It was a hope, a cheer to the spirits of the others, yet in, my own heart I counted little upon it.



CHAPTER XXXV

NIGHT AND THE SAVAGES

The hours of waiting dragged terribly. We conversed little, all alike nervous, irritable under the strain of our desperate situation. The Jesuit was much in prayer; but Cairnes fell asleep and twisted about uneasily, his head pillowed on his arm. I could only pace the rock floor, harassed by bitter, useless thoughts. What a memory picture it is!—the great bare cavern, with black interior only partially revealed by the gleam of the altar flame; the old savage huddled in his bonds, his baleful eyes glowing in the firelight as he watched every movement; the slender pere close beside him upon his knees, his frayed black gown rendering more conspicuous the rapt, upraised face, his white fingers clasping the crucifix; beyond, Cairnes outstretched on the hard stone, his bulky figure motionless but for nervous twitching, his red hair glaring like a spot of paint. I rejoiced that the fellow slept, for he rasped me with his ceaseless, senseless attacks on the Roman Church. Yet the gentle-voiced priest had tamed his open hatred somewhat; so before he lay down the sectary sat long in moody silence staring at the other with glinting eyes, as though fit speech failed him.

As the sun sank to the horizon I went forth again upon the platform, waving a blazing signal torch to the expectant groups below. The sky overhead was blue, but to the north and east, as far as I could see for overhanging cliff, great masses of black cloud were showing ominously, their ragged edges emitting lightning flashes, although too distant for me to distinguish the thunder. Below, in the valley, the approaching storm would not yet be visible; but from my aerie I prayed for a dark night, the swift approach of a battle of the elements.

Arousing Cairnes, who was already awake but lying glowering at the unconscious priest, I despatched him to the jutting platform, with instructions to keep close watch on all movements in the village. Then I busied myself with final preparations for our desperate sortie. The earliest shades of evening would have to be utilized, for then only could we hope for a clear path. Before those wild fanatics swarmed upward to their monthly sacrifice, we must traverse that narrow cliff path and penetrate the tunnel beyond as far as the underground altar. Nowhere between the cave entrance and that spot could I recall any place of concealment. Inspired by this necessity, so soon as darkness began to blot the mouth of the cave, I bore the priest that way in my arms, although he begged earnestly to be left behind, saying he was a useless burden. The slowly advancing clouds had not yet mounted high enough to obscure the moon, but hung densely massed across half the sky, low thunder echoing among the rocks, and jagged streaks of lightning tearing the gloom asunder. The burly Puritan lay, a black silhouette against the silvered rocks, leaning far over, staring down into the void. As I touched him, he turned his face toward me, pointing below with one hand.

"We are securely blocked, Master Benteen," he asserted gruffly. "A fit reward for associating with papists."

"Blocked?" failing to comprehend. "How? Are the savages already astir?"

"Look for yourself. See yonder; lights are on the pathway as high as the tree-bridge."

I dropped upon my knees, clinging to a bowlder, and peered over. He spoke truth, and my heart rose choking into my throat. Resembling innumerable fireflies tiny flames were gleaming along the entire front of the cliff—torches borne by human hands. Breathless the three of us clung there staring down, each realizing the utter futility of our efforts at escape, yet none reckless enough to give the thought utterance. The Puritan first found speech.

"The spawn of hell!" he growled savagely, shaking his great fist, remembering the indignities of the altar-house. "Good Lord, deliver us from this iniquity; lead us through the waters dry-shod, even as Thou didst Thy people of old from the land of Egypt."

"Come," I said, "we must seek whatever hiding-place is within, and trust God for it."

The priest looked at me pleadingly, his eyes like stars.

"I would at such an hour you were of my faith, Monsieur."

"I might do worse," I admitted, watching intently the lights on the cliff-path, "but it was not the teaching of my childhood. There is one below whose prayers are as yours."

"Madame de Noyan?"

I bowed my head in gesture of reverence.

"Yes, Monsieur, and whatever she loves is not far from my heart. But come, we have scant time for preparation; no, do not endeavor to walk; your weight is nothing to my arms."

There was no spot within where, even for a short period, we might hope to avoid discovery, except the rock gallery. Here, crouching behind the parapet, we could see without being seen, unless some savage chanced to stray that way. At my order the sullen, psalm-quoting preacher dragged the helpless old chief priest after him, and so we went groping forward through the darkness of the short passage, until we attained the stone steps. Stumbling blindly upward, our hearts throbbing in realization of the peril that was closing us in, we flung our bodies flat behind the concealing rocks, peering fearfully forth into the great deserted chamber. Even amid that lonely silence it was a sight to chill the heart; and to us, comprehending something of what it would soon reveal of savage orgy. It was like gazing down into the mouth of the Pit. The single touch of color in the drear picture came from the crimson drapery hanging over the edge of the raised platform. Seeing all this at one glance my anxious eyes sought the deeper gloom shrouding the tunnel leading toward the entrance. As I stared that way a sudden flash of fierce lightning illumined it. So brilliant it burst forth from the opaque night, I hid my blinded eyes, every nerve of my body quivering.

"Great God!" burst forth Cairnes, his voice so close as to startle me. "'T is like the end of the world!"

"Be still," I commanded hastily, pressing him flat, "there they come."

A dozen flaming torches rounded the rock projection the lights glistening over the half-naked bodies of the bearers. Saint Andrew! it was a weird sight, one to strike terror to the soul! With gritted teeth, my heart pounding, I looked out upon it. The leader was a priest, black from head to heel, his face showing devilish in the torch flare, his coarse hair matted high in horrid resemblance to some wild beast. Behind surged a mob of warriors, women, and children, half-nude bodies striped with red and yellow, a malignant demoniacal crew, yelling and pushing under the flaming lights, rushing tumultuously forward to fling themselves prostrate before the altar. It seemed they would never cease pouring forth from the narrow tunnel, a struggling, gesticulating stream. Behind them lightning played in jagged streaks across the little patch of sky, and the black smoke of the torches curled upward to the roof. Their appearance was not human, but that of demons incarnate; some ran upon all fours like wolves, gnashing their teeth and howling; many yelped in fiendish chorus; others brandished weapons aloft in the yellow flame, or lay, writhing like glistening snakes on the rock floor. It was a pandemonium, a babel, an unspeakable hell. To count was impossible, but the great room was filled with bodies, and rang with guttural, inarticulate cries. The busily flitting priests stirred up the wood until the blaze leaped nearly to the roof, mumbling as they worked, the incessant moaning of the tribesmen deepening into a weird chant. The frenzied singers leapt into the air, flinging their limbs about in wild contortion, their movements increasing in violence, their grotesquely painted faces becoming hellish from awakening passion. They became brutes, fiends, whose only thought was cruelty. I saw them strike each other with stone knives, slashing the flesh till blood ran. Heartsick and trembling, I glanced aside at my companions. The pere lay clasping the stone, his eyes wide with horror, his countenance death-like; Cairnes was upon his knees, his great hands gripped, staring straight down like some animal crouching for a spring.

It was when I turned back, loathing the sight yet unable to resist facing it, that I beheld for the first time those I sought—Eloise, De Noyan, and the Queen Naladi. An instant I blinded my eyes with uplifted arm, half believing that the horror had turned my brain, that all this was vision. Yet, as I ventured to look again, they were there before me in the flesh—Naladi all in red, a wondrous figure amid that spectral glow, tall, straight, with proud, imperious face, crowned by the brilliant hair, radiant and sparkling in the flame. Beside her loitered De Noyan, like one who enjoyed a spectacle arranged for his pleasure, his face darkening somewhat as though the sight were not altogether to his liking, yet debonair and careless, his waxed moustaches standing forth conspicuous, his fingers in his waist-belt. About the two were ranged a fringe of warriors, their flint-headed spears rising an impenetrable wall, while farther behind, separated and alone, the light of the fire barely revealing her presence, stood Eloise, a savage guard on either side of her. I caught the outline of her face, imprinted with horror, the lips moving as if in supplication; then I perceived something else—her hands were bound! Smothering an oath, I crept back to the pile of weapons in the corner, gripped a war-club, and, returning as silently, thrust a second into the unconscious hands of Cairnes. Our eyes met, the sectary nodding grimly, his jaws set like a steel trap. If need should arise we would die fighting like cornered rats.

Their yells reverberating to the vaulted roof, the smoking torches gyrating wildly above them, the throng of crazed fanatics were now upon their feet, crowding toward the platform, every tongue clamoring in incessant demand. All was confusion, a medley of noise and motion, tossing arms, and painted faces. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Naladi's red robe scarcely ten feet away, and behind her the countenance of De Noyan, still contemptuously smiling at that shrieking rabble. God! my face burned, my grasp tightened on the club. Yet I lay motionless, knowing well the time of sacrifice was not yet.

The woman stood at the edge of the rock platform, gazing intently down, a silent, motionless statue, her red robe sweeping to her feet, and below her the crimson drapery; the flaring torches in the hands of her barbaric followers cast their light full upon her. I stared at the strange creature, comprehending something of the power of passion such as she could exercise over De Noyan, causing him to forget all honor in her presence. Saint Andrew! she was a witch, a hell-cat, whose smile was death. Ay! and she was smiling then, a smile of cruel, unrelenting triumph, gazing down upon the howling slaves who should do her pleasure. She knew them well, every superstition, every wild impulse, and she played contemptuously on their savagery. Not fear, but command, was stamped upon her features; she ruled by legerdemain, by lie and trick, and she stood, the supreme she-devil, the master spirit in that raging hell. It seemed to me my heart would burst as I waited, seeing nothing then of Eloise amid the crush, and compelled to gaze on that dominant scarlet figure.



The cries of the multitude ceased, and a black-draped priest shouted unintelligible words. Naladi listened, extending one hand. Then her thin lips spoke a single sentence in the sharp tone of command. Instantly burst forth a fierce roar of disapproval; war-clubs pounded the floor, spears rattled as they were brandished overhead, while above the din I caught, again and again, the shriek, "Francais! Francais!" The Queen shook her head, her fair face darkening, and glanced aside into the questioning eyes of De Noyan. Below them the tumult increased, the mass surging forward and staring upward, every voice yelping that one term of hate, "Francais!" There was no doubting the dread menace—they were demanding French victims for the torture of sacrifice; they clamored for white blood with which to sprinkle the altar. I could dimly perceive now a dozen crouching slaves against the farther wall, the whites of their eyes showing in terror, and—oh, God!—there, to the right of them, alone, except for her burly guards, kneeling on the rock floor, with face hidden in her hands, was Eloise. I half rose to my feet, my whole body pulsating with agony. What was to be the ending? What was that mad woman's purpose? Could she control the fierce blood-lust of those savage fanatics? If she cared to do so, would she dare test her power in so desperate a game? If one must be sacrificed which would she spare, De Noyan or his hapless wife? Looking at her, cold, cynical, lustful, her eyes still turned on his face, I felt no doubt. Let the foul fiend choose! by all the gods, Cairnes should brain her where she stood, and, Heaven helping me to do the deed, the one I loved should never die by torture!

She took her own time for decision, indifferently ignoring the howls of rage, her thin lips curling in contemptuous smile, her glance yet upon the startled Chevalier. Laying her hand upon his sleeve, she said in French:

"You hear the wolves howl, Monsieur? They are mad for French blood."

He shrugged his shoulders, staring into her expressionless face, then down upon the surging mob below.

"Saint Giles! give them sufficient of something else," he replied, striving to pretend indifference, yet with a falter in his voice. "You pledged us safety if we would accompany you here."

"I pledged you safety, Monsieur," she corrected haughtily. "I gave no word of promise as to others. Yet circumstances have changed. I supposed then we had enough of victims to appease even such blood-lust as yelps yonder."

"You mean the preacher and Benteen?"

"Ay; they would suffice, with plenty of slaves for good measure. But now, only two remain from which to choose. Sacre! there are times when those dogs break away even from my control, and mock me. I know not now whether one alone will glut their desire, yet I am of a mind to try the experiment before the wolves drag me to hell also. Heard you ever such yelping of wild beasts?"

"You would sacrifice me?" his face whitening from horror. "You would give me to the knife and fire? Mon Dieu! is this the end of all your vows?"

She smiled, a cold, cruel smile, her eyes burning.

"I did not say you," tauntingly. "There is another here."

He drew away from her grasp, lips ashen, eyes unbelieving.

"Eloise! Mon Dieu! not Eloise?"

"And if not Eloise, what then, Monsieur?" The low voice hardened, becoming oddly metallic. "The wolves cry for blood—French blood. Is it your wish to die together? Pardi! if it be between you two, am I to have no choice which one I deliver? Why should you shrink back like a baby at first sight of blood? I thought you a soldier, a man. Did you not tell me you loved her no longer? did you not swear it with your lips to mine?"

He made no response, staring at her with eyes full of unbelief, the hideous uproar clanging about them in ceaseless volume. Naladi's face flushed with rising anger.

"Yet you do! Mon Dieu, you do!" she panted, the tiger within breaking loose. "Your words were a lie! Here, look at me," extending her arms, the white flesh of her bosom clearly revealed in the parting of her drapery. "Am I such as she? will I shrink like a coward, mumbling prayer and fingering rosary? Am I afraid to work my will? Am I not worth being loved? Am I the kind you think to play with? God's mercy! I am minded to throw you both to the beasts. No, no, not that; you dare not front me! I make my own choice of who shall die and who live." She laughed mockingly. "Bah! I know your sort, Monsieur—'tis as the wind blows; you love to-day, and forget to-morrow. Yet I keep you for a plaything—I have no use for her. I care no longer how the wolves tear her dainty limbs. Before this I have tasted vengeance and found it sweet."

He shrank before her fury, all conceit and audacity fled, and words failed him. Not even yet could he believe it true, but she permitted no recovery.

"You think I lie. You think I threaten, but dare not act. You think me a soft-hearted fool because I listened to your words of love. By the gods! you shall learn better. I have heard love words before; none ever spoke them to my ears without paying the price of deceit. Mon Dieu! and shall you escape? I can hate as well as love; strike as well as caress. So you played with me, Monsieur? used me to pass a dull hour in the wilderness? Sacre! 't is now my chance to sport with you. You forget who I am—I, Naladi, Daughter of the Sun, Queen of the Natchez. Look down! there are hands waiting to rend at my word. I will give them the girl-face for their blood-lust. Seek to stop me if you dare!"

Never can I forget the expression on De Noyan's face as he listened. Incredulity changed to loathing, then to despair. As though the woman had snatched a mask from off her features he gazed now upon the demon soul revealed in all its hideousness. Instantly all that was physically beautiful became loathsome from the foulness within. He endeavored to speak, to protest, but all his recklessness had deserted him and he trembled like a leaf. Already the gesticulating priests, thinking themselves cheated of their victims, were half way up the rude steps of stone; behind them surged the mob, screaming "Francais," their torches waving madly. Naladi laughed.

"So your nerve fails, Monsieur," she sneered coldly. "'Tis well it does, for you need expect no mercy from me. I also hate the French."

She turned from him, her arms outspread, the crimson drapery extended like wings. The glare of a hundred torches reflected on her face, and her lips spoke one word of stern command. Every voice ceased its howling, every form became motionless, the silence so sudden it was painful. The woman stood above them, dominant; every eye was fastened upon her; the priests were prostrate on the stair. I saw De Noyan leaning forward, his teeth clinched, his face death-like. From wall to wall Naladi's gaze wandered; once she looked into his eyes, then down again upon the mob of savages. Like the sharp hiss of a snake a single sentence leaped from her thin lips. The effect was magical. I scarcely realized the transformation, so rapidly was it accomplished. Confusion filled the chamber, yet out of the tumult I caught sight of Madame being driven toward the altar, her white face full of pleading, her hands, now freed, clasping her rosary. De Noyan must have beheld her at the same instant. With shout of rage he leaped recklessly forward, hurled aside the scarlet figure, and, uttering an oath, sprang on the parapet.

"By God! you foul fiend of hell!" he screamed madly. "I 'll fight for it; fight like a gentleman of France!"

I leaped to my feet, Cairnes beside me. Desperate as the chance was, we would be with him on that floor, with him smiting to the death. Yet even as he poised for the leap downward the woman's scarlet arms struck, and he went over like a stone, crashing into a huddled heap on the rock floor. Naladi laughed, leaning far out to look down, like a gloating devil.

"Fight, you poor fool!" she exclaimed in French. "Sacre! who struck hardest?"

Sick, trembling like a frightened child, I dragged the dazed Puritan down again, crouching behind the stones.



CHAPTER XXXVI

THE INTERFERENCE OF THE JESUIT

I could look no longer on that hellish scene. It seemed as if all strength, all manhood, had deserted me before the utter helplessness of our position. There was nothing left except useless sacrifice—a moment's hopeless struggle, the sole reward death under the war-club or by torture. God knows it was not myself I considered, but Eloise. It was thought of her which so unnerved me, so paralyzed body and mind. The Puritan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Great Jehovah," he muttered, "look there!"

How he ever made it I know not; how he ever crept on tortured stumps down those rude steps, and along the dark, rocky tunnel; how he ever succeeded in penetrating unscathed that howling mob of savages—yet there, in the very midst of them, fully revealed in the torch glare, his pallid, girlish face uplifted, but concealed beneath the shadow of his cowl, the silver cross gleaming in the light, beside Eloise, knelt the black-robed Jesuit. Amid the sudden hush of surprise I overheard his voice, fearless, calm, unfaltering, as he gave the weeping woman sacrament of the Church. A great brute struck at him; the frail figure reeled sideways to the force of the blow, but the words of prayer did not cease, nor his grasp on her hand relax. Rallying from their astonishment, the warriors crowded in upon them, and a fanatical priest hurled the pere headlong to the floor. I saw a brandishing of clubs, a glitter of spears, yet the poor fellow came erect once more, his arm resting for support on the woman's shoulder. It was all in a flash of time, like some swift transformation on the stage we could scarcely comprehend. At the instant a voice spoke, ringing above the babel, which ceased suddenly. I glanced involuntarily toward Naladi. She stood leaning forward, her hands gripping the stone parapet, conflicting emotions playing across her face.

As the torches, uplifted, gleamed brighter upon the motionless Queen, they revealed a look of perplexity, almost fear, in her cold eyes. What held her speechless? Was it remembrance of another life, when the stern word of the Church had been law? or was she merely troubled by so mysterious an appearance, her guilty soul swayed by superstitious terror? She was all too strange a riddle for my reading, but some occult power held her helpless, silent. The vengeful cries of her savage followers died away into threatening murmurs; the pere remained motionless, one hand on Eloise's bowed head, his white face shadowed by the hood, calmly fronting her who had commanded quiet. Slowly he lifted one arm, the loose sleeve lending dignity and power to the simple gesture, his white extended hand seeming to have in it the authority of command. A moment, heedless of the scowling, painted faces all about, the slight figure stood erect and firm, the dark eyes bearing witness to his earnestness, and never wavering from Naladi's scornful face.

"Woman," he said calmly, even as I imagine Christ may have spoken of old, "release this prisoner, and make thy peace with God."

She endeavored to laugh mockingly, yet only a hollow semblance came from between her white lips. "Pah!" she cried nervously, "you speak bravely; pray, who gave you authority to give orders to the Daughter of the Sun?"

"One greater than the Sun, woman," he answered. "I speak to you in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, and by authority of the Holy Catholic Church."

She leaned yet farther forward, as though seeking to penetrate the shadow concealing his face, a perceptible tremor apparent in her voice.

"Who are you? Answer me!"

"I am called Father Ignatius, a priest of the Order of Jesuits."

"And what do you suppose I care for your Romish orders? They have no power here; a single wave of my hand would condemn you to the place of yonder slaves." Her color rose in the wave of passion, sweeping fear aside. "I have nothing but hatred for your black robe, and your interference only intensifies my purpose. Mark you now what I say; if it be the will of my people to put this cringing French woman to the torture, I lift not so much as a finger to change her fate. More, because of your insolence I give you also into their hands. We take no orders from the Church of Rome."

"Your people!" the words rang forth with such clearness as almost to bring me to my feet. "You foul fiend of hell, do you think thus to impose your vile imposture on me? I fear neither your power nor the cruelty of your savage satellites. My life is in the hands of my Master, who will give me strength to mock your torture. Two months ago I was bound to a stake in the valley below. Ask these fiends, who do your bidding, whether I shrank back in terror, or made outcry as the flame ate into my flesh. Gaze on these stumps blackened by fire, and learn how I value your threats. Peace, woman, and no longer mock the faith of your childhood."

"My childhood? You know nothing of that!"

"Do I not? Look upon my face, and judge."

He flung back his cowl, and the light fell full upon his countenance. Upon the silence broke a sharp cry, in which fear and surprise were strangely blended:

"Andre Lafossier!"

"Right, woman; you have not forgotten. Sunk as you are in shame and evil deeds, conscience yet lives and haunts you. What do I know of you? Enough to justify calling you joint heir with all the fiends of hell, unless, like the thief on the Cross, repentance make white your black soul. Yet, 'tis in my heart that yours is the sin against the Spirit for which there is no forgiveness. Nothing in your face tells me of an awakening soul. You are a Queen, you say? Ay, of evil, of devils incarnate. I would rather be this poor woman bound to the stake than you upon a throne. Do your worst with us, but know that Andre Lafossier has nothing for you save disgust; still, as priest of Holy Church, I hold open the door of salvation through Jesus Christ."

Evidences of struggle marked Naladi's face, yet by now she had outwardly conquered the first shock of recognition, and stood a cold, stately statue, with glittering eyes on the slender figure of the priest.

"I care as little for your Romish mummery," she said sneeringly, "as I do for the senseless rites of these savages. But I am glad it is you I have in my power. If I am the queen of devils, they serve me well. You are to die, Andre Lafossier. I might have spared you had you kept your tongue, but after those words you die. I shall stand here and mock you to the last breath. You say I have no soul; to-night you shall know it true while I laugh at your agony."

She paused as if seeking to mark the effect of her words, but the pere merely stooped slightly, whispering some message of comfort into the ear of Eloise. Then he stood erect again.

"As you will, woman; to die for Christ is gain."

The face of Naladi, which had been pale and drawn, flushed, her eyes fairly blazing.

"So you dare mock me, you hireling priest!" she hissed. "'T is not for long; I am no snivelling French girl, afraid of blood. And now I give you a taste of my power."

As the words fell from her thin lips, she flung up one hand, exhibiting with a peculiar gesture a glittering metallic substance shining in the light. It must have been a signal for unrestrained sacrifice, for it was greeted with fierce howls of delight, the savage herd pressing in upon the prisoners, so that I lost sight of them an instant in the crush.

"Wait, woman!" rose the priest's voice above the uproar. "I admit your power here to take physical life; I expect no mercy from such as you. But, if you be not lost to all shame, grant me one favor, Marie Fousard."

"What?"

"A moment of time in which I may give absolution to this child of God before we die."

"Pish! is that all? Go on with your fool mummery. I will hold back the savages till that be done, though the sight of it will but anger them."

Eloise had sunk down against the altar, with face buried in her hands. The pere dropped upon his knees beside her. About them surged the glistening forms of the savages, maddened with blood-lust, but Naladi clapped her hands, with voice and gesture bidding them wait her further word. An instant they swayed passionately back and forth, their fanatical priests clamoring in opposition to this halting of vengeance. Then Naladi shook loose her hair, permitting its wealth to fall in a golden-red shower, until it veiled her from head to foot. The silenced crowd stared as if in worship of the supernatural. I know not what she said, uplifting her white arms from out that red-gold canopy, yet I can guess.

"Natchez, I dare you to disobey the Daughter of the Sun!"

Swept by a superstition stronger than hate, they flung themselves at her feet, prostrating their faces to the rock, grovelling like worms, heedless of all except her presence and her supremacy. She was a goddess, one whose will was destruction. Gazing down upon them, conscious of her power, her thin lips smiled in contempt. 'T was so I saw her last; so I shall always picture her in memory—a motionless, statuesque figure, covered with a veil of red-gold hair, her eyes like diamonds, her bare, white arms gleaming, her lips curved in proud disdain; a queen of savages, a high priestess of Hell.

The sudden cessation of noise was awesome, uncanny. It rendered manifest the ceaseless roar of thunder without. Directly in front of me yawned the cave entrance, plainly illuminated by vivid lightning. Dreadful as was the spectacle, it yielded me a flash of hope—here opportunity pointed a path of escape. With no pause for thought I whirled to arouse the Puritan, every nerve a-tingle with desperation. His deep-set eyes glowed like two coals, his square jaw projecting like that of a fighting bulldog.

"Cairnes," I muttered, almost heedless of what I said in the necessity for haste. "If we could attain the tree-bridge, we might hold the devils. See! the way is clear! What say you to the trial? Will you bear the priest?"

His grip tightened about the war-club, as he half rose to his feet like a maddened bear.

"Saints of Israel! yes," he growled, "the Jesuit is a man."

"Then come!"

With one leap I was upon the floor; almost at the same second he landed beside me. Twice I struck savagely at some obstructing figure, and in five strides was at the side of Eloise. One shrill cry of warning from the lips of Naladi echoed through the chamber, and was answered by the yell of the warriors. I was already clasping Eloise against my breast, and speeding toward the opening. Not a savage stood between, and now, all hope centred upon the desperate race, I dashed forward down the rocky path, rendered hideous by the lightning. All the fires of hell seemed swirling about us, writhing serpents of flame leaping from the sky, while fierce crashes of thunder echoed from rock to rock. I scarcely heard or saw. Below yawned the abyss, black with night; above stretched solid, overhanging stone, painted by green and yellow flames. I realized nothing except that ribbon of a path, the need of haste, the white, upturned face in my arms. God! was ever such a race as that run before? Did ever men dash headlong over such a path of death? No one need ask how it was done; how speeding feet clung to the narrow rock. I know not; I never knew. Twice I stumbled, sobbing in despair, yet ran on like a madman. Under the glare of the lightning I leaped downward where I had crept in climbing; protruding splinters of rock tore my clothes, bruised my body; my forehead dripped with perspiration, my breath came panting, yet I ran still, her form crushed against my breast. I shudder now in the recollection; then I scarcely knew. Ahead loomed black the tree-bridge; but I recall no shrinking fear, only exultation, as I bore down recklessly upon it. It must be crossed, upright, swiftly, with no thought of the yawning depth. If death came we should go down together.

"Eloise, steady me with hand against the cliff," I panted, and stepped forth boldly upon the trunk. My moccasoned feet gripped the rough bark firmly, yet I swayed horribly under my burden, as I footed the treacherous way. Again and again I felt myself swaying wildly, yet some power held us, until, at last, I stood on solid rock, utterly unable to essay another yard. Panting for breath, my arms yet clasping the motionless figure of Eloise, I glanced backward in apprehension. I could perceive Cairnes footing the log, the head of the priest showing black and distinct above his broad shoulder; beyond, a medley of dark figures appeared to dance dizzily along the cliff face. I staggered to my knees. With a growl of relief the Puritan dropped his burden. The next instant he had one great shoulder under the tree root. Heaving with all his mighty strength he slowly moved the great trunk, and I saw it topple over into the abyss; I saw his burly figure tottering on the very brink—then one awful flash lit up the sky, so blinding me that I sank face downward on the rock. The cliff shook as if riven from crest to valley, a single peal of thunder reverberating like the report of a thousand guns.



CHAPTER XXXVII

THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD

I may have lost consciousness; I do not know. That awful glare, the thunderous report, the speechless terror of feeling myself a mere pygmy in the midst of such tremendous convulsions of nature, shocked me into momentary insensibility. I lay huddled against the rock like a man dead, one arm yet clasping the motionless form of Eloise. Stunned, unable to move a muscle, I believed death had overtaken us all; that out from the very heavens a bolt had stricken us down. I struggled painfully to arouse myself, every nerve in my body appearing paralyzed. At first I could not even see, but light came back gradually to my blinded eyes, and I staggered to my feet, slowly adjusting my mind to the situation.

I began to understand then what had happened—that deadly bolt had smitten the cliff as by the wrath of God, yet I was spared. I still lived, as by a miracle. I stared across the chasm and up the steep ascent beyond, still clearly revealed in the lightning flashes. It was vacant; not a human form stood where those pursuing savages had been. A cry burst from my lips as I gazed—a vast, irregular gash showed clearly in the cliff face, but where the entrance to the cave had yawned was a solid front of rock. I staggered with the shock, reeling on the very edge of the path, and barely saved myself by dropping to my knees. Again I looked, half believing my brain crazed, that I beheld visions. As God guards me, it was true! Out of the very heavens He had struck, sealing those fiends into a living tomb. Trembling like a frightened child, I bowed my face and sobbed as I prayed for mercy.

I know not how long I lay unable for either thought or action. But at last I was upon my knees again, creeping forward to where a black figure lay at the very edge of the chasm, one arm dangling over the brink. I drew the inert body back to safety, peering down into the white face of the priest. My touch seemed to arouse him into consciousness, his dark eyes staring up into my face. I helped him to sit up and lean back against the wall. An instant he gazed about wildly, like one suddenly awakened from sound sleep, then hid his face in his hands.

"The Puritan—" I questioned—"the man who bore you here—what happened to him?"

He shuddered, and pointed into the black abyss.

"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,'" he quoted solemnly.

"He went down?"

He bowed his head silently, his fingers searching for his crucifix. I sat staring at him, crushed into helplessness.

In a few moments I felt the pressure of his fingers.

"The Lord hath preserved us as by fire," he said in low, solemn tone, "He hath ridden upon the flaming skies in his chariot, accompanied by angels and archangels. 'T is ours to bless His holy name."

I gazed into the rapt, boyish face, and said:

"On my knees have I already acknowledged His mercy. I am not ungrateful."

The troubled countenance brightened with a quick smile.

"God is most good," he murmured; "He hath spared us that we may continue to honor Him, and do His work. The woman—does she also live?"

The question brought me instantly to my feet, wondering how I could have neglected her so long. But before I could advance to where she lay, she sat partially up, her face turned toward us.

"Eloise," I cried, the heart joy apparent in my voice. "Good God! I had forgotten."

She held forth her hand, her eyes smiling.

"I hold that not strange," she answered, the soft voice faltering slightly. "I saw you groping like a blind man, yet could neither move nor speak. I lay helpless as if paralyzed. Tell me what has happened."

I held her hand, falling upon my knees beside her, my eyes searching her sweet face.

"A lightning bolt smote the cliff," I explained rapidly, "rending the solid rock. Master Cairnes was hurled headlong into the chasm, and our pursuers were swept from the path. The very mouth of the cavern has been forever sealed."

"The cavern?" as if stifled, her eyes opening wide. "They—they are buried alive?"

"I doubt if any lived to know," I answered soberly. "'T is likely those within were crushed to death."

She dropped her face into her hands, sobbing hysterically. Unable to speak, I bowed my head until it touched her shoulder. The crippled priest crept toward us, forgetful of his own pain in the call of duty.

"Daughter," he said tenderly, stroking her brown hair with his slender fingers, "to live or die is as Christ wills. The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Be of good comfort, remembering these words of promise, 'Lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'"

She looked up through the mist of her tears, first into his face, then into mine.

"I have passed through much," she confessed simply, "yet 'tis not the spirit but the body which has become weakened. Forgive me, both of you."

"Brave heart!" I echoed, caring nothing for the presence of the father. "No woman ever upbore grievous burden better. If we rest first, you will regain courage to go on."

Both her hands were resting trustfully in my own.

"With you," she acknowledged softly. "In all confidence with you."

We sat there until the coming of dawn, speaking only seldom, our very thoughts holding us silent. Occasionally I could feel Eloise's hand touch mine as if she sought thus to be reassured of my presence, and I could distinguish an inarticulate murmur from the priest's lips, as if he continually counted his beads in prayer. The glare of lightning gradually ceased, the storm passing away to the westward with distant reverberations. Yet clouds overcast the skies, leaving the early morning hours dark and cheerless. With the first faint glow of day lighting the pathway, I stood up, dizzy at viewing the awful abyss below our narrow shelf. We could perceive now more plainly the terrific havoc wrought above, but our eyes turned away from it in horror. We must linger there no longer, but press forward with whatever of courage remained.

"I must ask you to attempt to walk alone, Eloise," I said regretfully, "as I must bear the pere, whose limbs are crippled."

Her startled eyes were filled with womanly sympathy.

"Crippled? Was it done last night in the storm?"

"No, a month ago; he was tortured at the stake in the village below. Ever since then he has been held prisoner for sacrifice."

"Do not worry, daughter; my wounds are not worthy your tears," broke in the soft voice; "they are but a small part of my debt to Him who perished upon the cross. Yet I think I might manage to walk, Monsieur, without assistance. Surely, with God's help, I can master the pain."

"Make no attempt," I said; "your slight figure will prove no burden to me. It was of Eloise I thought."

"Then do so in that way no longer," she burst forth eagerly. "I have been trouble enough to you, Geoffrey. I will not consent to remain helpless. See! I can stand alone—ay, and walk; even this great height does not render my head dizzy."

We advanced slowly and cautiously down the path, feeling yet the exhaustion of the night. The way proved less difficult than we expected. The tunnel was by far the hardest portion, as we were compelled to grope the entire distance through intense darkness, guiding ourselves with hands against the wall. Having little fear that any of the tribe remained to dispute our passage, we conversed freely and cheerfully, avoiding all unnecessary reference to the recent tragedy. We emerged from the dark hole somewhat before noon, making use of the entrance leading through the altar-house. The sight of the deserted platform reminded us of the Puritan, and as I glanced aside at Eloise, her gray eyes were filled with tears. A fire smouldered on the altar, waiting replenishment from hands that would labor no more; and we gladly hurried from the gloomy interior to the sunlit slope without.

The desolate, deserted village presented a scene of loneliness impossible to describe; not a figure was moving among the huts, no sign of life anywhere. We discovered an abundance of food, and partook of it in the open. Eloise appeared unwilling to accompany me, so I went alone to explore the mystery of Naladi's house, leaving her assiduously ministering to the needs of the priest. My search was rewarded by the discovery of my lost rifle, with what remained of ammunition, together with a variety of feminine garments with which to replace those sadly soiled and tattered ones Madame wore. The desire was in the hearts of us all to get away as soon as possible, to put behind us that desolate spot, those deserted houses, and the haunting cliff. The pere had constructed, during my absence, a pair of rude crutches for his use; and, so soon as Eloise had more becomingly clothed herself, we departed, bearing such provisions as we could conveniently carry. With the gun in my possession, I expected no great shortness in the food supply. Madame carried it at first, however, as we made swifter progress by my taking the father on my shoulder. He was no great burden, his weight scarcely more than that of a child.

In this manner we tramped steadily forward through the bright sunshine, along canals filled with clear, cool water, and across fields no longer tilled by slaves, until we discovered the secret path which led forth from this death valley. A moment we paused, glancing back toward the village, and up at the frowning front of rock, the tomb of the Natchez. Then silently, soberly, as befitted those who had witnessed an act of God, we pressed on into the labyrinth, shutting out forever that scene, except as a hideous memory. To me the change was like entering upon a new world; I was a prisoner released, breathing once again the clear air of hope and manhood. Burdened as we were, the passage through the tangled cedars to where the stream flowed down the canyon proved one of severe exertion. When we finally attained the outer rocks, with the sullen roar of the falls just below, I was breathing heavily from exhaustion, and a flush had come back into Eloise's pale cheeks. Very gladly I deposited the priest in a position of comfort, and the three of us rested in silence, gazing about upon the wilderness scene. We had spoken little to each other regarding the future; under the depressing influence of that dread valley we felt incapable of thought, our minds yet dazed by the tragic events we had experienced. Even now I constantly saw before me the faces of Cairnes and De Noyan, scarcely able to banish their memory long enough to face intelligently the requirements of the present. Yet now it must be done. The pere sat, with crutches lying across his rusty black robe, his girlish features softened by a look of infinite peace; Eloise leaned against the rock in a posture of weariness, her bosom rising and falling with tumultuous breathing. I recalled to mind the leagues of desolate wilderness yet to be traversed. Possibly I indulged unconsciously in outward expression, for the priest gazed across at me.

"The sun is still sufficiently high for considerable travel, my son," he remarked quietly, "and you will require daylight for the earlier part of your journey."

"It was upon my mind, but I scarcely knew how best to proceed."

"Possibly my experience may guide you. The way should not prove unduly fatiguing after you pass the falls," with a wave of the hand downward, and a slight smile. "I wandered here alone up that valley, seeking the Indian village somewhat blindly, discovering much of interest on the way. Would that my own future path led me through such ease; but 'tis mine to go whithersoever the Lord wills. However, my discoveries will be of value. Slightly below the falls, concealed beneath an outcropping rock, you will find several stanch Indian boats. The lightest one will transport safely the two of you, together with what provisions you require. The current runs swiftly, yet a strong, skilful hand on the steering oar should bring you through without mishap."

We both stared at him, greatly puzzled by his strange speech. Eloise was first to speak in protest.

"What do you mean by two of us? Do you deem us dastards enough to leave you here alone?"

He smiled into her face with the tender smile of a woman, and held up his shining silver crucifix.

"Daughter," he said modestly, "my work is not yet done. Upon this symbol I took solemn oath to live and die in faithful service to the heathen tribes of this river. Would you have me retreat in cowardice? Would you have me false to the vows of my Order? to the voice of the Master?"

"But you are crippled, helpless, in continual pain!" She crossed hastily to him, dropping upon her knees at his side. "Oh, pere, we cannot leave you; it would mean death."

His slender fingers stroked her brown hair, his eyes alight with the fire of enthusiasm.

"Whether or not I am worthy of martyrdom, God knows. All I see is my plain duty, and the beckoning hand of the bleeding Christ. Daughter, you are a child of the true Church; your pleading should never retard the labor of the priesthood. My suffering is nothing, my life nothing, if only through such sacrifice souls may be rescued from the consuming flames of hell."

She could not speak, but sobbed, her face hidden.

"Where do you go seeking other tribes?" I asked hoarsely, scarcely believing his words.

He arose with difficulty to his feet, holding himself erect on the rude crutches. I noticed now, for the first time, a bag of woven grass hanging at his girdle.

"Yonder, Monsieur, to the westward," a new dignity in his manner as he pointed up the narrow canyon. "There are tribes a few days' journey away. I have learned of them, without being told their names. To such, under God, I bear my message of salvation."

"But you will starve on the journey."

"I carry food here," touching the bag. "It will suffice; if not, there are berries and roots in abundance. My Master has always fed me in the wilderness."

What more could I say or do to change his purpose? It was a girlish face fronting me, yet the thin lips were pressed tightly together, the dark eyes fearless and resolute. I laid my hand on Eloise's shoulder.

"It must be as he says," I acknowledged regretfully. "We can but depart."

She arose slowly to her feet, her eyes still sadly pleading. The pere gazed questioningly into both our faces, the rigid lines of his mouth softening.

"My daughter," he said, in calm dignity, "we of a desert priesthood are ordained unto strange duties, and unusual privileges. Do you love this man?"

A wave of color surged into her cheeks, as she gave one rapid glance aside into my face. Then she answered in all simplicity:

"Yes, pere, from childhood."

Resting upon his crutch, he touched her with his hand.

"Yet he who perished yonder was your husband. How came you thus to marry, with your heart elsewhere?"

"It was the desire of my father, and the will of the Church."

He bowed his head, his lips moving in silent prayer for guidance.

"Then the will of the Church hath been done," he said humbly. "Here in the wilderness we perform the will of God, untrammelled by the councils of men. 'T is my dispensation to bury the dead, baptize the living, and join in marriage those of one heart. It is not meet that you two journey together except with the solemn sanction of Holy Church."

My pulses throbbed, yet I could only look at her, as she stood trembling, her eyes downcast, her cheeks burning.

"But—but, pere, will it be right?" she faltered faintly.

"Let the dead past bury its dead," he answered gravely. "I hold it right in the name of Christ, from whom I derive authority. Geoffrey Benteen, take within your own the hand of this woman."

'T is but a dream, our standing there together in the sun; a dream, those words of the marriage rite spoken by him in the desolation and silence of the desert. We knelt together upon the stones, hand clasping hand, while above our bowed heads were uplifted the priest's thin, white hands in benediction. Whether or not in that hour Andre Lafossier exceeded his authority I cannot tell. In heart we were joined of God; our union has never been questioned of man.

We stood there watching, longing to prevent the sacrifice, as he moved away from us slowly upon his crutches. It was a pitiful sight, that slender figure, in frayed, tattered black robe, going forward alone, and in agony, to death or torture. It was in my heart to cry after him, but she understood far better the mighty motive of his sacrifice, and restrained me with uplifted hand. Far up the canyon, he paused a moment and glanced back. The distance already veiled his face, but up into the sunlight he lifted the silver crucifix. Then he disappeared—to endure his fate in Christ's name. Then, hand in hand and heart to heart, our voices silent, Eloise and I went down into the valley to where the boats lay. The dead past was behind us; the future was our own.



THE END