The officer disappeared with Gus, and the Cyclops continued:
“The Chaplain will open our Council with prayer.”
Solemnly every white-shrouded figure knelt on the ground, and the voice of the Rev. Hugh McAlpin, trembling with feeling, echoed through the cave:
“Lord God of our Fathers, as in times past thy children, fleeing from the oppressor, found refuge beneath the earth until once more the sun of righteousness rose, so are we met to-night. As we wrestle with the powers of darkness now strangling our life, give to our souls to endure as seeing the invisible, and to our right arms the strength of the martyred dead of our people. Have mercy on the poor, the weak, the innocent and defenceless, and deliver us from the body of the Black Death. In a land of light and beauty and love our women are prisoners of danger and fear. While the heathen walks his native heath unharmed and unafraid, in this fair Christian Southland our sisters, wives, and daughters dare not stroll at twilight through the streets or step beyond the highway at noon. The terror of the twilight deepens with the darkness, and the stoutest heart grows sick with fear for the red message the morning bringeth. Forgive our sins—they are many—but hide not thy face from us, O God, for thou art our refuge!”
As the last echoes of the prayer lingered and died in the vaulted roof, the clansmen rose and stood a moment in silence.
Again the voice of the Cyclops broke the stillness:
“Brethren, we are met to-night at the request of the Grand Dragon of the Realm, who has honoured us with his presence, to constitute a High Court for the trial of a case involving life. Are the Night Hawks ready to submit their evidence?”
“We are ready,” came the answer.
“Then let the Grand Scribe read the objects of the Order on which your authority rests.”
The Scribe opened his Book of Record, “The Prescript of the Order of the Invisible Empire,” and solemnly read: