for the gesture of
ineffable contempt with which she turned her back on the wretched hound.
"Pray, begone," she said in a firm but musical voice; "your hated
presence comes between me and my God."

"Ha! ha!" laughed the sardonic ruffian; "one for you, Sir Priest, one
for you, I reckon. Well, come along with you, I've no time to fool away
here." But Kenyon, mindful of the part he had to play, took not the
slightest notice of the slaver, but kneeled reverently down by himself
for a few brief moments, then rose and left the room obedient to an
impatient signal from the fierce and wicked man, whom his fingers fairly
itched to throttle then and there.

Had Zero looked behind him he would have been greatly astonished to see
the captive woman bend simply down and gaze wildly at the floor beneath
her feet; and then, in a mighty revulsion of feeling, give way to a
perfect paroxysm of tears and sobs. What, you ask, gentle reader, was
the cause of this sudden and subtle change from strength to weakness?
What? Simply Stanforth Kenyon's message written with the point of his
finger on a dusty boarded floor, and that message was:

"Hope."

Only four precious letters; yet this man had written them at the peril
of his life. It must, it did, mean something, and all her woman's wit
was instantly on the alert to lay hold of the earliest clue to the
whereabouts of these her secret friends.

Hope! Oh pity her, gentle reader, a lovely woman in the zenith of her
beauty and the pride of motherhood, condemned to die a frightful death
before another day had run its course, and die merely to satisfy the
insensate malice of a ruffian Mormon hound.

Turning away from Zero, Kenyon would have left the building in silence;
but the slaver laid upon his shoulder a firm, detaining hand. "Softly,
my good old man! `Softly! softly! catch monkey,' as these infernal
niggers say. You live on the mountain, and I reckon you can see a long
way. Now have you seen naught of this cursed Grenville and the pack of
fools who follow him? Speak out, man, or I guess I'll soon find means
to open your wretched old jaws."

Like a flash of light, an inspiration came to Kenyon; and, drawing
himself up proudly, he shook off the slaver's hand. "The men ye name
are even now within my cave upon the hill," he said. "Go seek them if
ye dare, monster of evil, but beware the end thereof; beware, for Muzi
Zimba warns thee!"

The effect was precisely what Kenyon h