“You are the prisoner of the High Priest Coryon.”
“But how, and why, and where?”
The man shook his head quietly. He was not an ill-favoured fellow, and regarded his prisoner in a half-friendly manner, Templemore thought.
“You are still in the king’s palace,” he continued, “but your friend and the princess have been taken away to Coryon’s abode.”
“Taken away to his place? Great God help them and help us all, then!” Jack moaned, as the picture of what he had seen there that well-remembered night rose up before his mind. “And how has all this come about? and where is Monella, and where is the king?”
“I may not talk to you,” the soldier answered. “I have disobeyed orders in telling you thus much. But Ergalon was a friend of mine and I know that he is a friend of yours.” And he went out, closing and fastening the door behind him.
Here was terrible news! Leonard and Ulama prisoners of Coryon; perhaps immured in one of those awful dungeons within reach of the terrible tree, where the very sight of what went on beyond those barred and grated doors was enough to drive the bravest mad; and where, at any moment, that whistle—a door run back—and then——!
“It’s too dreadful—too horrible to think of!” Templemore exclaimed. He sprang up and began pacing restlessly up and down. “I shall go mad myself, if I dwell upon such thoughts.”
The hours dragged slowly by till evening, when, just when it was growing dark, the door was once more opened and the same man came in and, looking at Templemore, made a sign to be silent. Then he returned to the door and led in a muffled figure, and, without a word, retired. The figure threw back a hood that covered the head, and Templemore, with glad surprise, saw that it was Zonella.