The Interference of the Jesuit

I could look no longer on that hellish scene. It seemed as if all strength, all manhood, had deserted me before the utter helplessness of our position. There was nothing left except useless sacrifice--a moment's hopeless struggle, the sole reward death under the war-club or by torture. God knows it was not myself I considered, but Eloise. It was thought of her which so unnerved me, so paralyzed body and mind. The Puritan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Great Jehovah," he muttered, "look there!"

How he ever made it I know not; how he ever crept on tortured stumps down those rude steps, and along the dark, rocky tunnel; how he ever succeeded in penetrating unscathed that howling mob of savages--yet there, in the very midst of them, fully revealed in the torch glare, his pallid, girlish face uplifted, but concealed beneath the shadow of his cowl, the silver cross gleaming in the light, beside Eloise, knelt the black-robed Jesuit. Amid the sudden hush of surprise I overheard his voice, fearless, calm, unfaltering, as he gave the weeping woman sacrament of the Church. A great brute struck at him; the frail figure reeled sideways to the force of the blow, but the words of prayer did not cease, nor his grasp on her hand relax. Rallying from their astonishment, the warriors crowded in upon them, and a fanatical priest hurled the père headlong to the floor. I saw a brandishing of clubs, a glitter of spears, yet the poor fellow came erect once more, his arm resting for support on the woman's shoulder. It was all in a flash of time, like some swift transformation on the stage we could scarcely comprehend. At the instant a voice spoke, ringing above the babel, which ceased suddenly. I glanced involuntarily toward Naladi. She stood leaning forward, her hands gripping the stone parapet, conflicting emotions playing across her face.