difficulty in finding the words. More and more, too, he had difficulty
in understanding _their_ words.

"Of course," interposed Bruder Kalkmann in his iron bass, "_we_ have not
misunderstood. You have come back in the spirit of true and unselfish
devotion. You offer yourself freely, and we all appreciate it. It is
your willingness and nobility that have so completely won our veneration
and respect." A faint murmur of applause ran round the room. "What we
all delight in--what our great Master will especially delight in--is the
value of your spontaneous and voluntary--"

He used a word Harris did not understand. He said "_Opfer_." The
bewildered Englishman searched his brain for the translation, and
searched in vain. For the life of him he could not remember what it
meant. But the word, for all his inability to translate it, touched his
soul with ice. It was worse, far worse, than anything he had imagined.
He felt like a lost, helpless creature, and all power to fight sank out
of him from that moment.

"It is magnificent to be such a willing--" added Schliemann, sidling
up to him with a dreadful leer on his face. He made use of the same
word--"_Opfer_."

"God! What could it all mean?" "Offer himself!" "True spirit of
devotion!" "Willing," "unselfish," "magnificent!" _Opfer, Opfer, Opfer!_
What in the name of heaven did it mean, that strange, mysterious word
that struck such terror into his heart?

He made a valiant effort to keep his presence of mind and hold his
nerves steady. Turning, he saw that Kalkmann's face was a dead white.