No sooner had Orlando and the negro passed round the cliff to which
Rosco had directed them, than they beheld a sight which was well
calculated to fill them with anxiety and alarm, for there stood Zeppa,
panting and wrestling with one of the fiends that were in the habit of
assailing him.
The fiend, on this occasion, was familiar enough to him--the stout
branch of a tree which overhung his cave, but which his delirious brain
had transformed into a living foe. No shout or cry issued from the poor
man's compressed lips. He engaged in the deadly struggle with that
silent resolve of purpose which was natural to him. The disease under
which he laboured had probably reached its climax, for he swayed to and
fro, in his futile efforts to wrench off the limb, with a degree of
energy that seemed more than human. His partially naked limbs showed
the knotted muscles standing out rigidly; his teeth were clenched and
exposed; his blood-shot eyes glared; the long, curling and matted hair
of his head and beard was flying about in wild disorder; and his
labouring chest heaved as he fiercely, silently, and hopelessly
struggled.
Oh! it was a terrible picture to be presented thus suddenly to the gaze
of a loving son.
"Stay where you are, Ebony. I must meet him alone," whispered Orlando.