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. Wha