"Friend," continued the man, "you did not see what I saw, the soldiers of Spiritual Pride scaling the cliffs and take their position by your side."
Amer looked round sharply.
"I see no sign of them," he said.
"Nay, but do not you know by this time, that those who they attack are very often the last to perceive their presence."
"Well," said Amer, "I do not know after all, even if what you say is true, why I should be so surprised. They generally attack the bravest soldiers of the King."
The man looked at him sadly.
"Disappoint not our King," he urged. "He has done so much for you in saving you when in such peril; I pray you to keep humble, and to remember that you owe all your safety to Him and not to your own prowess."
"You speak truly," said Amer, in a somewhat superior tone of voice. "No one knows better than I, that great truth; but I think perhaps you forget that it may dishonour the King as much to deny what He has done for you—the courage He has given you, the wisdom He has imparted to you—as to speak too much of it."
The man who was old enough to be Amer's grandfather did not resent the sermon that had been delivered with a certain amount of conceit. But he was silent for a moment. Then looking quietly with his clear penetrating eyes at his companion, he said slowly,
"'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall,'" and with the words he left Amer and followed his own path which at that moment led away from that of the other pilgrims.