And then suddenly he was brought to a halt again, completely, as much startled as if he had been shot through the back. For the old man had raised his voice commandingly and called aloud:
“Stop!”
Completely mystified and not a little alarmed by that extraordinary act, the Parson turned and stared at the weird figure. The peddler was still bent half to the ground, but he had flung back his bushy head and extended his hand in a gesture of command.
“Wh—why!” stammered the amazed cadet. “By Zeus!”
The old man continued to stand, his piercing eyes flashing. And then suddenly he dropped his hand and in a low, singsong voice began to mumble, as if to himself. His very first words rooted the Parson to the spot in amazement and horror.
“Deep within a mountain dreary
Lies a cavern old and dark;
Where the bones of men lie bleaching
In a chamber, cold and stark.”
The Parson had turned as white as any bones; he was gasping, staring at the horrible creature, who knew the secret that the Parson had thought was his friends’ alone to tell. His consternation it is difficult to imagine; the crouching figure saw it, and took advantage of it instantly. Without making another sound, he backed away; beckoning, the Parson following instinctively, helplessly. They stood beneath the protecting shadow of some high bushes, and there once more the weird figure raised his arms, and the amazed cadet quailed and listened: