With a stealthy, sidelong motion the spider-like brute crept towards its fascinated victim. Every hair on its great, brown body bristled with fury; each of its eight, claw-armed legs seemed to quiver with eagerness as it advanced.
The horror of the awful thing stunned Mervyn—held him powerless, as though he were fixed to the floor. He could do naught but stare.
Then suddenly a wave of fury swept over him, and with might and main he strove to release his hands from the manacles. Like a madman he fought and tore, but the chains held him like a vice, and presently, with bleeding hands and wrists, he ceased his efforts.
Bowing his head that he might not see the grim form of his destroyer, he stood awaiting his doom.
Yet at that moment, although he knew it not, help was at hand.
Even while he thought himself within an ace of Eternity; when the great spider, but a few yards from its victim, was crouching for a spring, and the savage hordes in the temple were watching eagerly for the final scene of the tragedy, a shout came pealing downward from above.
Aroused, Mervyn looked up. The sight that met his eyes sent the hope rushing back into his heart, and set every nerve in his body tingling with a wild desire to live.
[CHAPTER XV.]
FOR A FRIEND’S LIFE.
“SAY, Seymour?”