All this while there had been no sign of Jacob Meyer.  This, however, did not surprise them, for now he ate his meals alone, taking his food from a little general store, and cooking it over his own fire.  When they had finished their breakfast Mr. Clifford remarked that they had no more drinking water left, and Benita said that she would go to fetch a pailful from the well in the cave.  Her father suggested that he should accompany her, but she answered that it was not necessary as she was quite able to wind the chain by herself.  So she went, carrying the bucket in one hand and a lamp in the other.

As she walked down the last of the zigzags leading to the cave, Benita stopped a moment thinking that she saw a light, and then went on, since on turning the corner there was nothing but darkness before her.  Evidently she had been mistaken.  She reached the well and hung the pail on to the great copper hook, wondering as she did so how many folk had done likewise in the far, far past, for the massive metal of that hook was worn quite thin with use.  Then she let the roller run, and the sound of the travelling chain clanked dismally in that vaulted, empty place.  At length the pail struck the water, and she began to wind up again, pausing at times to rest, for the distance was long and the chain heavy.  The bucket appeared.  Benita drew it to the side of the well, and lifted it from the hook, then took up her lamp to be gone.

Feeling or seeing something, which she was not sure, she held the lamp above her head, and by its light perceived a figure standing between her and the entrance to the cave.

“Who are you?” she asked, whereon a soft voice answered out of the darkness, the voice of Jacob Meyer.

“Do you mind standing still for a few minutes, Miss Clifford?  I have some paper here and I wish to make a sketch.  You do not know how beautiful you look with that light above your head illuminating the shadows and the thorn-crowned crucifix beyond.  You know, whatever paths fortune may have led me into, by nature I am an artist, and never in my life have I seen such a picture.  One day it will make me famous.

     ’How statue-like I see thee stand! 
     The agate lamp within thy hand.’

That’s what I should put under it; you know the lines, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Meyer, but I am afraid you will have to paint your picture from memory, as I cannot hold up this lamp any longer; my arm is aching already.  I do not know how you came here, but as you have followed me perhaps you will be so kind as to carry this water.”

“I did not follow you, Miss Clifford.  Although you never saw me I entered the cave before you to take measurements.”

“How can you take measurements in the dark?”

“I was not in the dark.  I put out my light when I caught sight of you, knowing that otherwise you would run away, and fate stood me in good stead.  You came on, as I willed that you should do.  Now let us talk.  Miss Clifford, have you changed your mind?  You know the time is up.”