“Thou didst not kill me,” said Tor. “I am alive, and see once more. Yesterday the King, my Master, healed me.”
“Lies!” mumbled Chelluh, shaking his great head,—“thou wast always a liar.”
“This is no lie that I tell thee. Wouldst thou receive thy sight also? Come, I will lead thee to my Master. He will heal thee.”
Chelluh reflected for a moment. Physically he was stronger than the puny child. Yet he distrusted his words. “Thou art plotting mischief against me, gutter rat,” he growled, “I know thee.”
“If I plotted mischief I should have come upon thee suddenly, and run away ere thou wast aware of me,” replied Tor. “I am no man’s fool, but I serve a new Master, one Jesus. ’Tis for my Master I do this. He heals blind folk, therefore I fetch blind folk to him to be healed. Thus I serve my Master. Wilt thou come?”
Chelluh rose slowly to his feet. “I will come,” he said; “but if thou hast lied to me, little dog, thou knowest the strength of my hands, and shalt know again. This time I will kill thee beyond a peradventure.”
Tor shuddered at the familiar clutch of the knotted fingers on his slender shoulders. Yet he walked bravely forward. “So I serve my Master,” he said aloud.