And over the horde of bloodthirsty natives, who were preparing his fiery torment, St Agapit made the sign of the cross. Evening came, soft and fragrant, with a rush of sweet wind when the door opened to admit food and drink for the prisoner. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the sentry who took up his post after the proclamation of the evening gun; a thick-set man, swarthy and black-bearded, a Cyclops in appearance, but a Cerberus for watchfulness, as the girl knew; for once, when she had timidly tried the door, the brute had growled at her like a dog. Darker grew the air. Madeleine stood against the wall, listening to the rush of water far beneath, the drone of beetles, and the scarcely audible murmur from the heart of the fortress. The last beam went out, the tired day was asleep, and Cerberus tramped, growling out his thoughts. It became so dark that the walls disappeared. Clouds hung low, dark as the under-world; the stars were blotted out; not a gleam of phosphorus nor a smoky ray shot upward from the north. The land whirled blackly into space. Madeleine moved her forehead from the cold stone and sighed softly. She crept to her bed and sat shivering gently, holding fast her treasured blooms. The night damp had revived the flowers and drawn out their odour, so that the girl pleased herself with the fancy that she was sitting in a rose-bower. She heard the screech of an owl far away, the rattle and splash of oars, the running out of a chain, the snap of a belated locust. She heard the ticking of an insect in the walls; and she heard the growl of Cerberus: "A plague upon that ghost-light!" She heard a sound which made her shiver, though it might have been nothing more than a heavy foot struck sharply upon the turf; but hardly had the thrill passed when a gasp and a great groan made the dark night wild, and the hill-top and every stone in the building seemed to jar as the ground was smitten. The silence that followed was unbroken by the solemn tramp which had become a part of the girl's life. The human clock was broken. Then a subdued voice began to sing, harsh and unmusical, straining to be sympathetic, and its song was of peace and love in an old-world garden. Harsher grew the voice, though the effort to be tender underlay each note. "Friend," whispered Madeleine The song was stilled. "Oh, friend, open the door and let me feel the air." "Prepare your eyes for a hideous sight," muttered the voice, dull and grating like a saw. "My deliverer cannot make me fear," she murmured. The iron bolt grated, the door opened, and Madeleine beheld in the gloom the shapeless outline of the dwarf. "Thank the night, lady," he said. "It is kind because it hides one of nature's failures. A spider, they say, once saved a Scotchman. A hunchback may do as much for a queen." Madeleine stepped out to the balmy night. "What made you come to my aid?" she murmured. "It is death for you."