"I fear no flame!" muttered the new voice discontentedly. "Let me
but see the stranger!"

"There shall no flame be kindled!" burst out in wrath the
superstitious father. "Bide thou till morning! Then shalt thou see
the branded one."

Silence followed. The discontented villager did not dare say more.
After a short time, the quietness of slumber seemed to envelop the
black tent.

Concealed by the dark, Timokles endeavored with his teeth to loosen
the bonds of his wrists. After prolonged attempts, he undid one
knot, and by successive wearisome trials he at length entirely
released his left hand.

Timokles was near the black tent. It seemed to him that he heard the
faintest stir within. But a long silence followed, and he thought he
had been mistaken.

Timokles tugged at the thongs of his right hand. His arm was lame
from the leopard's claws, and he could not reach the knots that held
him. He struggled mightily, till at last he lay exhausted, no nearer
free than before.

"I cannot do it!" he despaired.

He must wait for dawn, for recognition, and for death, such death as
was thought meet for a Christian. Timokles shut his eyes, and