Before I could lift hand or voice in interference he had braced his massive shoulder against the towering figure of wood, and, with a mighty heave sent the monster crashing over upon the rock floor, himself sprawling beside it as it fell. As they came down together in a cloud of dust, an opening was revealed behind the stone pedestal on which the idol had stood. Torch in hand I instantly crept forward. I found myself in what was little more than the merest cell, yet dimly illumined by a single beam of light streaming downward as if penetrating through some slight crevice in the rock. The narrow hole, for it was hardly more, was bare of all furnishing; both walls and floor were damp, but there were remnants of coarse food and a pannikin of water.
Its sole occupant sat cross-legged on the hard floor, bound about the waist with a band of metal. One end of this was attached to the wall in such a manner that the prisoner could neither rise to his feet nor lie down. Never have these wandering eyes of mine looked upon a figure more pathetic. For an instant I stood there, swaying upon my feet as though from sickness, staring at him incredulously. His thin, pale, effeminate face was rendered wonderfully piteous by the depth of suffering so plainly revealed within the great, black, appealing eyes. So peculiarly delicate were the features, so slender the fragile form, about which a frayed and rusty robe clung loosely, that for a moment I actually believed I was looking upon a young girl. So strong was this impression that I drew back, almost abashed. This slight pause enabled Cairnes to regain his feet and press past me. As his eager glance fell upon that slender, crouching figure, I observed how suddenly his eyes hardened, his whole expression changed.
"You are a priest of Rome!" he exclaimed harshly, staring down.
The white, girlish face brightened instantly, the two thin hands plucking forth from some fold in the tattered robe a small silver crucifix. At sight of this the stern-mouthed Puritan drew sharply back, as if he feared contamination from the symbol.
"Oui, Monsieur," answered the soft voice, with an odd note of joy in it. "I am of the Society of Jesus."
"'T is plain to see. What do you here?"
The priest smiled gently, his eyes dimming with tears fixed upon the cross.
"'Tis strange question. Surely Monsieur knoweth little of our Order, or he would not need to ask. We are soldiers of Christ, commissioned for war, even to life or death. We ask nothing but the privilege of service, and the command of our superior. I am named missionary unto the savage tribes of this river. It has been the will of God that I suffer in order that through me some souls born into heathendom may thus be redeemed from the torments of the damned."