"Wait at least until the night blackens. Secrete yourself anywhere. Elnathan will find you. You will know of his approach by the hoot of the owl he has learned to imitate. You may need his knowledge of by-paths. But, above all, in the land of Israel trust in Israel's God. He has said, 'Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by noonday.' 'He that keepeth Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.' Farewell until brighter days!"
Night fell too rapidly for Hiram to get far away. Nor was there need, for the base of the mountain had been torn by earthquake and freshet into a hundred hiding-places. The chief danger was from wild beasts rather than from men. He chose a deep cleft which he observed to have a double opening, from either of which he could depart if the other were menaced. He had not waited long before the hoot of an owl sounded.
"Amazingly natural!" thought Hiram. He had once prided himself upon his powers of mimicry, and now he would essay a trial of skill with Elnathan.
"Too-whoo! too-whoo!" he echoed back.
"Too-whoo!" rang out from a crag quite distant. A moment later it came again, but this time from another direction. Then from another.
"The peasant is more deeply learned in bird-speech than I," mused the listener. "He throws his voice from cliff to crag, from ravine to tree-top."
Hiram ventured another call. Scarcely had the sound escaped his lips when the air hummed; a pair of dusky wings whirred close to his head, and a black object settled on the edge of the rock above him.
"I did it well," he congratulated himself, "to have brought the bird to me as a mate. Welcome to my nest, Sir Owl, for I think you are a restless soul like myself."
The bird flew away. But other companionship came. A rattling of stones down the ravine told of some one's approach. Hiram's success with the former hoot emboldened him to challenge Elnathan again.
"Too-whoo!" rang and re-echoed.