Prisoners of Chance

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."