Night Hawk signalled for single file, and in
a few minutes they stood against the cliff under Lover's Leap and saluted
their chief, who sat his horse, awaiting their arrival.

Pickets were placed in each direction on the narrow path by which the spot
was approached, and one was sent to stand guard on the shelving rock
above.

Through the narrow crooked entrance they led Gus into the cave which had
been the rendezvous of the Piedmont Den of the Clan since its formation.
The meeting-place was a grand hall eighty feet deep, fifty feet wide, and
more than forty feet in height, which had been carved out of the stone by
the swift current of the river in ages past when its waters stood at a
higher level.

To-night it was lighted by candles placed on the ledges of the walls. In
the centre, on a fallen boulder, sat the Grand Cyclops of the Den, the
presiding officer of the township, his rank marked by scarlet stripes on
the white-cloth spike of his cap. Around him stood twenty or more clansmen
in their uniform, completely disguised. One among them wore a yellow sash,
trimmed in gold, about his waist, and on his breast two yellow circles
with red crosses interlapping, denoting his rank to be the Grand Dragon of
the Realm, or Commander-in-Chief of the State.

The Cyclops rose from his seat:

"Let the Grand Turk remove his prisoner for a moment and place him in
charge of the Grand Sentinel at the door, until summoned."

The officer disappeared with Gus, and the Cyclops continued:

"The Chaplain will open our Council with prayer."

Solemnly every white-shrouded figure knelt on the ground, and the voice of
the Rev. Hugh McAlpin, trembling with feeling, echoed through the cave:

"Lord God of our Fathers, as in times past thy children, fleeing from the
oppressor, found refuge beneath the earth until once more the sun of
righteousness rose, so are we met to-night. As we wrestle with the powers
of darkness now strangling our life, give to our souls to endure as seeing
the invisible, and to our right arms the strength of the martyred dead of
our people. Have mercy on the poor, the weak, the innocent and
defenceless, and deliver us from the body of the Black Death. In a land of
light and beauty and love our women are prisoners of danger and fear.
While the heathen walks his native heath unharmed and unafraid, in this
fair Christian Southland our sisters, wives, and daughters dare not stroll
at twilight through the streets or step