“They mistake you for a god, and prostrate themselves in worship.  You are unto them a mysterious visitant from the Sun—­so the Queen named you, inspired by the color of your hair.”

He groaned aloud, his chin dropping dejectedly upon his breast.

“I feared as much, and the thought greatly oppressed me.  ’T is as if I were a golden calf set aloft in the wilderness to mock the true God.  It resteth heavy on my spirit to abide as a vain idol in the tents of these idolaters.  When first they draped me with this foul livery of Satan,” he touched the scarlet robe gingerly with his chin, “I made so vigorous a protest two of the black imps went down before me, but the others overpowered my struggles, binding me fast, as you see.  But, verily, I have delivered unto them the whole truth as revealed unto the saints; have struck and spared not—­ay! the very language of the scriptures have I poured forth unstinted upon them, and drawn before their eyes that fiery hell over which they dangle in their sins.  It must be their understandings are darkened, for they hearken not unto my exhortations, only lie thus, or dance before me by the hour in unholy worship, snapping their fingers and shouting strange words, while twice yonder black emissary of false religion held his smoking torch so closely to my face the flame scorched the skin.  Nor have my most fervent prayers availed to drive them hence, or ease the prickings of the spirit.  ’T is as if the ear of the Lord had been turned aside from the supplications of His servant; yea, verily, as if the vials of His wrath were being poured forth upon my head, because, in a moment of weakness, I yielded to the machinations of that scarlet woman.”

“Have you again seen her?” I questioned anxiously, as he paused for breath.

“Seen her!—­the accursed of God, the moral leper who rules this foul nest?  Ay; I have, and may the Lord forgive my ever casting eyes upon such a shameless creature.  ’T was she who brought me this disgrace.  She stood by with mocking smile, bidding her savage minions bind me fast.  She is the chief imp of Satan in spite of her fair face, and shall yet be stricken low by the avenging arm of the Almighty.  ’Tis no gleam of mercy cometh to me from her taunts, nor in the harlot blood flowing through her veins.  I tell you, Master Benteen, she is the worst devil, for all her softness, in all this heathen crew; and if she spared our lives from the torture, it was done through some dark project born of the demon within her soul.  Nothing good can come forth from such as she.  Marked you the eyes she cast on De Noyan?”

“I paid no heed,” I answered, wondering he had observed so much.  “Have you supposed we may owe our escape unto him?”

“Ay! she has marked him victim to her snare, nor do I doubt the full success of her venture.  ’T is small stock of virtue which bedecks itself in such Punchinello dress as that gay gallant wears.  Amalekite is written upon his raiment, and he is ever attired as becomes a bridegroom to the shameless harlot ruling this devils’ den.  Marry, he may be good enough wielding a sword, yet will prove the undoing of all who company with him in this adventure.”