ol," I whispered back hastily. "The Almighty may have
guided me here, but 'tis a man in the flesh who speaks."

The sectary made hard efforts to glance behind, but the cords held too
firmly, so I merely gained a glimpse of the side of his face.

"Merciful Jehovah! 'tis the voice of Master Benteen," he exclaimed
joyfully. "I know not how you could come there unless you descended
from the sky."

"From the opposite quarter, my friend," I replied, awake to the humor.
"Pray speak with less noise, and pay heed to what I say. Tell me where
the priest stands; you are so confounded broad of shoulder I can see
nothing beyond."

"He kneels to the right of the altar, the crawling spawn of hell, where
he has good chance to fill his lean body with food he makes pretence to
feed unto that foul figure of wood. He is a full imp of Satan, the
black-faced idolater."

"I care little as to that. Are there others present?"

"None, save the guard, a naked savage. He leans in the doorway,
looking without."

"Then be quiet while I cut your bonds; afterwards move back toward me.
But mark well you tread lightly along the floor, with no sound to
attract attention."

He chuckled grimly.

"Fathers of Israel! it will astound those fellows to discover this
place empty--'t is likely they will imagine me gone back to the Sun."

Making no response to this natural conceit, I stretched myself forward
the full length of my body, quickly drew the keen knife edge across his
bonds, severing them with one stroke, thus setting free his arms. As
the sundered cords dropped noiselessly to the floor I drew back into
hiding, leaving him to rid himself of whatever might remain. A moment
later he joined me, silently as a great shadow, and I cordially
extended my hand to him.

CHAPTER XXXI

WE MOUNT THE CLIFF

"May the gracious blessing of the Lord rest upon you, Geoffrey
Benteen," exclaimed the old Puritan fervently, as we faced each other
in that gloomy passage, and it somehow heartened me to note tears in
his gray eyes. There was heart, then, under all his crabbedness. "I
have suffered much of late both in spirit and flesh, and the very sight
of you is as a gift of mercy unto me. No angel with healing in his
wings could prove more welcome, yet I dislike leaving yonder food for
the sustenance of that foul idolater."

"You hunger then?" I questioned, amused at the regret with which he
glanced backward.

"Is it hungered you call a m