isee, full of loud-mouthed prayers and vain conceit of
righteousness, a false prophet, haggling over formalism when the
slightest sacrifice of what you hold the letter of the law would result
in the salvation of human life. You call yourself a Christian, a
follower of that Nazarene who died for sinners on the cross, deeming
yourself better than those who cling to other creed. You sneer at that
rosary in Madame's fingers, yet do you suppose it possible she would
not endeavor to pluck your life from the jaws of death if it lay in her
power? Ay! and never waste speech about abominations in the path."

"The spirit is of greater value than the body," he persisted doggedly.
"Yea, 'tis better the flesh perish miserably in the flame than
surrender up the soul unto the devil."

"That is no issue here; you seek to deceive yourself by false words. I
denounce you openly as a false follower, for if I read rightly the
language of Holy Writ, it was He whom you so delight to term Master who
gave his life freely for His friends. But you--you are all words, a
charnel-house of dead men's bones."

Had he been free I might have rued my hasty words, for his eyes were
hot with anger, and he strained fiercely at his bonds in effort to
break free. Yet I felt safe enough beyond the sweep of his great arm,
rejoicing that my tongue was sharp enough to penetrate so thick a hide,
and make the man squirm beneath his outer vestment of piety.

"You speak falsely," he bellowed, nearly beside himself. "Satan puts
those foul words upon your lips tempting me to do evil."

"Nay; the words are true," I went on, determined to drive him by
taunts. "They are neither foul nor false, and right glad I am to
discover your real character even at this eleventh hour. I make no
loud boasting of my religion, dinning it into the ears of all I meet as
if I were the only righteous man on earth, but I do thank God from the
depths of my heart I have never yet basely deserted a friend in time of
trouble. I did consider you a good comrade, but I know now you are
nothing but a whited sepulchre, a miserable hypocrite, a Judas
betraying his master with a kiss. Pah! go your way, you are unclean;
nor ever hope again for word of fellowship from lips of honest men. I
shall die having performed my duty to the extent of my knowledge, but
you as a dog, a traitor to your comrades, the betrayer of a woman in
time of peril."

"'Tis false, I say; I would yield life gladly