It was very quiet in the mountain cleft, and the stars seemed withdrawn to newer and deeper arches of heaven as they sought in the debris for the Servian.

They kindled a fire of twigs to give light for their search, and soon found the great body lying quite at the edge of the torrent, with arms flung out as though to ward off a blow.

The face twisted with terror and the small evil eyes, glassed in death, were not good to see.
"He was a wicked man, and died in sin.

I will dig a grave for him by these bushes." When the work was quite done, Oscar took off his hat and knelt down by the side of the strange grave and bowed his head in silence for a moment.
Then he began to repeat words and phrases of prayers he had known as a peasant boy in a forest over seas, and his voice rose to a kind of chant.

Such petitions of the Litany of the Saints as he could recall he uttered, his voice rising mournfully among the rocks.
_"From all evil; from all sin; from Thy wrath; from sudden and unprovided death, O Lord, deliver us!"_ Then he was silent, though in the wavering flame of the fire Claiborne saw that his lips still muttered prayers for the Servian's soul.