"You have brought me here?" she asked him.
"As I promised."
"Well?"
"To tell you something of the truth."
She looked at him with a penetrating frankness that was in spirit--laudatory.
"You put great trust in me," she said.
"That I may trust the more."
He sat himself down on a ledge of rock, and proceeded to parade before her imagination such visions as were well conceived to daze the reason of a girl taken fresh from a forest hermitage. He spoke of riot, revolution, and revenge; painted Utopias established beneath the benediction of a just personal tyranny, a country purged of oppression, a kingdom cleansed of pride. He told of arms stored in the warrens of the cliff, of grain and salted meat sufficient for an army. He pointed out the vast strength of the place, the plateau approachable only by the stairway in the cliff, and the narrow causeway towards the west. He described it as sufficient for the gathering and massing of a great host. Finally, he swept his hand over the leagues of forestland, dark as the sea, isleting the place from the ken of the world.
"You understand me?" he said to her.
She nodded and waited with closed lips. He gazed at the horizon, and spoke in parables.