Mrs. Willoughby looked at him, full of pity.  He was utterly broken down by this last effort.

“Oh dear!” she thought.  “Is he sane or insane?  What am I to do?  It is dreadful to have to go on and humor his queer fancies.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

MINNIE’S LAST LIFE-PRESERVER.

When Tozer started after Dacres he led Minnie by the hand for only a little distance.  On reaching the acclivity he seized her in his arms, thus imitating Dacres’s example, and rushed up, reaching the top before the other.  Then he plunged into the woods, and soon became separated from his companion.

Once in the woods, he went along quite leisurely, carrying Minnie without any difficulty, and occasionally addressing to her a soothing remark, assuring her that she was safe.  Minnie, however, made no remark of any kind, good or bad, but remained quite silent, occupied with her own thoughts.  At length Tozer stopped and put her down.  It was a place upon the edge of a cliff on the shore of the lake, and as much as a mile from the house.  The cliff was almost fifty feet high, and was perpendicular.  All around was the thick forest, and it was unlikely that such a place could be discovered.

[Illustration:  “‘WORSE AND WORSE,’ SAID TOZER.”]

“Here,” said he; “we’ve got to stop here, and it’s about the right place.  We couldn’t get any where nigh to the soldiers without the brigands seeing us; so we’ll wait here till the fight’s over, and the brigands all chased off.”

“The soldiers! what soldiers?” asked Minnie.

“Why, they’re having a fight over there—­the soldiers are attacking the brigands.”

“Well, I didn’t know.  Nobody told me.  And did you come with the soldiers?”

“Well, not exactly.  I came with the priest and the young lady.”

“But you were not at the house?”

“No.  They wouldn’t take me all the way.  The priest said I couldn’t be disguised—­but I don’t see why not—­so he left me in the woods till he came back.  And then the soldiers came, and we crept on till we came nigh the lake.  Well, then I stole away; and when they made an attack the brigands all ran there to fight, and I watched till I saw the coast clear; and so I came, and here we are.”

Minnie now was quite silent and preoccupied, and occasionally she glanced sadly at Tozer with her large, pathetic, child-like eyes.  It was a very piteous look, full of the most tender entreaty.  Tozer occasionally glanced at her, and then, like her, he sat silent, involved in his own thoughts.

“And so,” said Minnie at last, “you’re not the priest himself?”

“The priest?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no; I don’t call myself a priest.  I’m a minister of the Gospel.”

“Well, you’re not a real priest, then.”

“All men of my calling are real priests—­yes, priests and kings.  I yield to no man in the estimate which I set upon my high and holy calling.”