Not so their written languages, however. No two nations have the
same written language, and often cities of the same nation have a
written language that differs greatly from that of the nation to
which they belong.
Thus it was that the signs upon the paper, if in reality they were
words, baffled me for some time; but at last I made out the first
one.
It was "courage," and it was written in the letters of Marentina.
Courage!
That was the word the yellow guardsman had whispered in my ear as
I stood upon the verge of the Pit of Plenty.
The message must be from him, and he I knew was a friend.
With renewed hope I bent my every energy to the deciphering of the
balance of the message, and at last success rewarded my endeavor--I
had read the four words:
"Courage! Follow the rope."
"FOLLOW THE ROPE"
What could it mean?
"Follow the rope." What rope?
Presently I recalled the cord that had been attached to the parcel
when it fell at my side, and after a little groping my hand came in
contact with it again. It depended from above, and when I pulled
upon it I discovered that it was rigidly fastened, possibly at the
pit's mouth.
Upon examination I found that the cord, though small, was amply
able to sustain the weight of several men. Then I made another
discovery--there was a second message knotted in the rope at about
the height of my head. This I deciphered more easily, now that
the key was mine.
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