“But, good God! you believe this,” burst out Sorez. “You haven’t the heart to revenge yourself upon her? You–––”
He checked himself. He knew the man would do as he most feared. This, then, was to be his punishment––to know that he had brought the girl to such an end as this––that he had won her trust and confidence and rewarded it with such torture as this demon might mete out to her. The Priest might even slay her before his eyes. He strained at the rope which bound him until it tore into his flesh. The waters played about the raft. The stars danced in the ripples.
Sorez brought himself to try once more.
“If you have a spark of pity in your heart, you will do her no harm. Listen! I lied to the girl. I brought her here on the hope that she might find this father who has been a long time gone from home. He was a sea captain and I told her that many captains had been lost here in the mountains and been found again. I told her that I had seen her father in Bogova. That is why she came.”
“To the lake?”
Sorez had but a second in which to decide. If he told the Priest of the girl’s power, the latter might slay her to bury the secret, or torture her to betray it to him. No, it would be safer to leave the Priest merely suspicious.
“As I am about to die,” affirmed Sorez, solemnly, “that is God’s truth.”
The Priest placed the little golden idol out of danger. Then he stooped and bound the ropes more tightly about the ankles of the prostrate man. Sorez watched him with new interest––almost with a new hope. He glanced at the girl and saw her kneeling upon the raft, her white face to the moon.
The Priest bent to fasten the rope which already bit into the flesh above the arms. It was for this Sorez had prayed. As the Priest stooped, his long coat swayed within reach of the long-waiting fingers. Sorez gripped both laps and that grip was the grip of death.