The backwoodsman’s look was very eloquent, and his visitor equally quick of comprehension. By that look he asked a question.
“No; I’m not a prisoner now,” she answered, “only in name. You shall have the benefit of my labours. But you must do everything cautiously. And first, to get rid of your guards.”
“How was that to be done?”
It was the captive who asked himself this question.
“Here is a bottle,” continued she; “it contains a sleeping draught. When they return, ask them for a drink; they will give it to you in a gourd; manage to pour the contents of this bottle into the gourd, and invite them to drink along with you. They will do so, as they never refuse a condemned captive. In a few minutes the draught will take effect. Then climb to the window, remove the bars without noise, let yourself down softly, and make your way straight into the forest. No thanks, till I see you again!”
With these words his visitor vanished, the opening in the wall closed noiselessly, and Cris lay wondering whether he had been sleeping or waking, listening to a soft, delicate voice, or only dreaming that he heard it.
The phial in his hand, however, gave token that he had not been dreaming. His visitor was no creature of another world, but one of this mundane sphere.
The hunter scratched his head with bewilderment, and mentally reviewed the situation.
“Wal, of all the surprisingest things as ever I met, this air the most tremenjous. Bite me to death with gallinippers if ever I thought to have seed sich a thing and not yell right out! And me a lyin’ here when that splendiferous critter war a botherin’ her brain to sarve this old sinner! It’s the most etarnal ’stonishing thing ever heerd on—that’s what it is. Yah! so you’re come agin, air ye?” he continued, as two of his guards re-entered. “Wal, I reckon I’ve got somethin’ as ’ill suit your complaint. Come in, ye devils, you!”
