Justin turned and seated himself on a fragment of rock near the bank of leaves on which Elfie rested.
“I am very glad, Elfie, to find you safe at last,” he said, a little dubiously.
“Yes, thank Heaven, I have passed safely through the terrible days of my captivity,” said Elfie.
“I can answer for that. The men of Belial, bad as they were, didn’t dare to harm a hair of her head. From their chief downward, they all treated her with respect,” said the preacher.
“Hold your tongue, Mr. Simmons. I don’t need that you should endorse me. I have little reason to be grateful to you, goodness knows, for saving your life at the expense of my liberty,” snapped Elfie.
The preacher bowed his head under this rebuke. And Justin Rosenthal looked from one to the other in perplexity.
“I will explain, Justin; but it is a long story, I can tell you. I have been through a campaign since I saw you last,” said Elfie.
“But before you begin, my dear young lady, let me ask the captain here a question.—Sir, might you have a morsel to eat or drink about you?” piteously inquired the poor consumptive preacher.
“No, I mightn’t, I am sorry to say,” smiled Justin.
“You see we haven’t broken our fast since the morning. And I feel a sort of inward sinking. And if you had a scrap of hard tack or a drop of old rye—”