“No, no, no. Girzilla, or nothing at all. Come.”
Whoever the girl with the strange name might be, she evidently knew her way, for never once did her foot slip, although Max found his ankles turning every minute, and had he not a firm hold on Girzilla’s dress, which, though of gauzy linen, seemed as strong as a hempen cord, he would have fallen frequently.
“Sit down!”
The words were uttered very abruptly, and were in the nature of a command.
Max did as ordered, and sat in silence—a silence so great that he could hear the beating of his heart, and fancied that he could also distinguish the pulsations of his guide’s organ of life at the same time. The silence was almost unbearable, and Max grew fidgety and restless.
“I have got into some queer streets before this, but I confess this is the strangest,” he mused.
“To save thee, thou must go through the place of the dead.”
The voice was that of Girzilla, but it sounded so sepulchral that Madcap Max felt a cold shiver pass over him.
“Hast thou courage?” she asked.
“I—h-have,” he stammered, his teeth chattering with nervous fear of the unknown.