“Thank God we are here!” exclaimed Philpot—somehow his pious ejaculations always sounded to my ears like profanity—“or rather thank your friend with the black and white face. I only hope he has got so good a shelter. I say, De Veber, lend us your shawl, will you? The rain is beating in through the doorway in a perfect torrent. It will break it a little, and cut off the draught. Ye gods! but ain’t it cold!”
It was exceedingly cold and we, in our wet garments, were shivering in a way horribly suggestive of fever.
Maurice brought out his brandy flask which helped us in imagination, if not in fact, and while Philpot busied himself in hanging the shawl, he and I raked out the charcoal from the hole before the image, brought wood from the corner, and as I had my matches in a waterproof case, we soon experienced the comfortable sensations of a crackling blaze; which not only served to dry our clothes and warm us up, but made things cheerful with its light.
Not that all these things were done in a moment. By no means. When we entered the tower we were in total darkness and it was only by lighting match after match that we were able to make out anything at all. Now the fire was blazing merrily and I lighted my pipe, and Maurice his cheroot—the Doctor sponging on my friend for his smoke as usual—and we all seated ourselves on the stone floor beside it, well satisfied with our snug retreat.
“We’re in for a night of it,” said Philpot, “and upon my soul we might have a worse place. Look at his nibs scowling down at us there! To think of men being fools enough to worship that block of stone.”
He was looking up at the big image which returned his gaze with a stony stare, as the flashes from the fire played grotesquely upon its battered face.
“He is God to his worshippers, at all events,” said Maurice, dreamily.
“And as good a one as the invisible Jehovah of the Jews and Christians,” retorted Philpot. “There, I have said it—don’t one of you dare to give me away boys.”
And then, as though in rebuke of his blasphemy, came a crash of thunder which was truly terrible. It seemed to shake the old tower to its very foundation stones.
“Enough!” I cried. “Enough! Let us have no more of it. Though I may be to a certain extent in harmony
