The tears eased his heart and soothed him more than any other thing could have done.
Girzilla, with womanly tact, withdrew and let him weep, for she knew the value of tears to the sorrow-stricken.
Truly, this girl was more than ever a mystery.
With the simple innocence of her race she looked upon herself as the consoler of the bereaved one, because she had been present when his eyes first opened to the great sorrow.
When his grief had subsided, Girzilla was transformed.
She was no longer the lively girl, but the stern guide.
“Follow me,” she said, coldly.
“Nay, stay a while.”
“Why should I? Does not the Frank desire to be free?”
“Thou knowest I do; but I have not yet explored this tomb.”