When John Ames at last returned to consciousness, the first thought to
take definite shape was that he was dead. There was a rock ceiling
overhead. He had been dragged into a cave, he decided, a favourite
place of sepulture for natives of rank. His enemies had accorded him
that distinction. He could not move his limbs. They had been bound
round him.
Then there returned in dim confused fashion the events of the day; the
surprise; the visit to Madula's camp; the crafty pursuit; the sudden
ending of the ground beneath his feet; the plunge through empty air;
then--starry void; and remembering it all, the supposed funeral
ligatures took the form of a blanket, which, wrapped tightly round him,
impeded the use of his limbs. He was not dead, only dreaming, suffering
from a bad nightmare. The blanket--the rock overhead! What a blessed
relief! All the events, terrible and tragic, he had just gone through,
were parts of a dream. Nidia was not left alone in that savage
wilderness, but here, within a few yards of him. He was lying across
the entrance of her retreat, as usual, that none might imperil her save
by passing over him. Filled with an intense thankfulness, he lay and
revelled in the realisation that it had all been a dream. Still it
should act as a warning one. Never would he be so confiding in their
security again.
The light grew and spread. The grey rock above him became less shadowy,
more distinct. Whence the languor that seemed to attend his waking
hours, the drowsy disinclination to move? Yet there it was. Well, he
must combat it; and with this idea he suddenly sat up, only to fall back
with a cry of acute anguish. His head was splitting.
For some time he lay, unable to move, thinking the while whether his cry
had disturbed Nidia. No; she had not moved. At last an idea took hold
of his confused brain. Their camping-ground this time was not a cave.
It was in the open. Whence, then, this rock--this rock which somehow
seemed to weigh upon him like a tombstone? And--Heavens! What was that
over there? A table?
A table! Why, a railway engine would have been no more phenomenal at
that moment. A table! Was he dreaming? No. There it stood; a sturdy,
if unpretentious four-legged table, right up against a tolerably
perpendicular rock-wall.
He stared at it--stared wildly. Surely no such homely and commonplace
object had ever been the motive power for such consternation, such
despairing, sickening disappointment before. For it conveyed to him
that the events of the previous day had been no dream, but dire reality.
Where he now was he had no idea, but wherever it might be, it was
certainly not in the place where he had parted from Nidia and she would
still be undergoing all the horrors of utter solitude. Again he tried
to leap up; but this time an invisible hand seemed to press him down, an
unseen force to calm and hypnotise him, and in the result everything
faded into far-away dimness. Nothing seemed to matter. Once more he
dropped off into a soothing, dreamless slumber.
How long this lasted he could not have told. On awakening, the
frightful brain agony had left him. He could now raise his head without
falling back again sick with pain. The first thing he noticed was that
the place was a rock-chamber of irregular shape; the further wall nearly
perpendicular, the ceiling slanting to the side on which he lay. A
strange roseate light filled the place, proceeding from whence he knew
not. But now he became conscious of a second presence. Standing within
this light was a human figure. What--who could it be? It was not that
of a native. So much he could see, although the back was towards him.
Then it turned. Heavens! though _he_ had not seen it before, the
recognition was instantaneous. This was the apparition at their former
camp. The tall figure, the weather-worn clothing, the long white beard,
and--the face! Turned full upon him, in all its horror, John Ames felt
his flesh creep. The blasting, mesmeric power of the eyes, surcharged
with hate, seemed to freeze the very marrow of his bones. This, then,
was petrifying him. This, with its baleful, basilisk stare, was turning
his heart to water. What was it? Man or devil?
There was a spell in the stare. That glance John Ames felt that his own
could not leave. It held him enthralled. At all risks he must break
the spell. "Where am I?" he exclaimed, astonished at the feebleness of
his own voice.
"In luck's way this time. Perhaps not," came the reply, in full, deep
tones. "What do you think of that, John Ames?"
"You appear to know me; but, I am sorry to say, the advantage is all on
your side. Where have we met before?"
The other's set face relaxed. A ghastly, mirthless laugh proceeded from
a scarcely opened mouth. There was that in it which made the listener
start, such an echo was it of the mocking laugh thrown back at him out
of the darkness when challenging that shadowy figure at their former
camp.
"Where have we not met?" came the reply, after a pause. "That would be
an easier question to answer."
"Well, at any rate, it is awfully good of you to have taken care of me
like this," said John Ames, thinking it advisable to waive the question
of identity for the present. "Did I fall far?"
"So far that, but for a timely tree breaking your fall, you would hardly
have an unbroken bone within you now."
"But how did I get here? Did you get me here alone?"
"A moment ago you were deciding that curiosity might sometimes be out of
place. You are quick at changing your mind, John Ames."
The latter felt guilty. This was indeed "thought-reading" with a
vengeance.
"Yes; but pardon me if it seems to you inquisitive--it is not meant that
way," he said. "The fact is, I am not alone. I have a friend who will
be terribly anxious--in fact, terribly frightened at my absence. I
suppose you are in hiding, like ourselves?" Again that mirthless laugh.
"In hiding? Yes; in hiding. But not like yourselves."
"But will you not join us? I know my way about this sort of country
fairly well, and it is only a question of a little extra care, and we
are bound to come through all right."
"Such `little extra care' as you displayed only yesterday, John Ames?
Yet an evening or so back you thought my presence hardly likely to prove
an acquisition."
The cold, sneering tone scarcely tended to allay the confusion felt by
the other at this reminder. This, then, was the apparition seen by
Nidia, and he had been able to draw near enough to overhear their
conversation with reference to his appearance. The thought was
sufficiently uncomfortable. Who could the man be? That he was an
eccentricity was self-evident. He went on--
"You were right in saying that your `friend' would be terribly
frightened. She has gone through such a night as she hopes never to
spend again, and her fears are not over, but this time they are very
material, and are for herself. There are shapes stealing upon her down
the rocks--dark shapes. Natives? No. Human? No. What then? Beasts.
She screams; tries to drive them off. They grow bolder and bolder--
and--"
"Heavens alive, man, don't drive me mad!" roared John Ames, whirling up
from his couch, forgetful alike of aching bones and bruised and shaken
frame. "What, is it you see--or know? Are you the devil himself?"
But the face of the seer remained perfectly impassible. Not so much as
a finger of his moved. His eyes seemed to open wider, then to close;
then to open again, as one awakening from a trance. Their expression
was that of slight, unperturbed surprise.
"Look here, now," said John Ames, quickly and decidedly. "You have
taken care of me when I was in a bad fix, and most likely saved my life.
I am deeply grateful, and hope we shall get to know each: other
properly. But just now I must not lose a moment in going back to my
friend, and if you won't go with me, I'll ask you to put me into my
bearings."
The stranger did not move in his attitude, or relax a muscle.
"You can't go from here now," he said; "nor, in fact, until I allow
you."
"Can't? But I must!" shouted John Ames. "Heavens! I don't see how you
can know all you have been saying; but the bare suggestion that she may
be in danger--all alone and helpless--oh, good God, but it'll drive me
mad!"
"How I can know? Well, perhaps I can't--perhaps I can. Anyway, there's
one thing you can't do, and that is leave this place without my aid. If
you don't believe me, just take a look round and try."
He waved his hand with a throw-everything-open sort of gesture. In
feverish strides, like those of a newly caged tiger, John Ames quickly
explored the apartment, likewise another which opened out of it. His
mind fired with Nidia's helplessness and danger, he gave no thought to
the curious nature of this subterranean dwelling; all he thought about
was means of egress.
At the further end of the apartment in which he had been lying yawned a
deep shaft like that of a disused mine. Air floated up this; clearly,
therefore, it gave egress. But the means of descent? He looked around
and above. No apparatus rewarded his view--not even a single rope. He
explored the further chamber, which, like the first, was lighted by a
curious eye-shaped lamp fixed in a hole in the rock-partition wall.
Here too were several smaller oubliette-like shafts. But no means of
exit.
The while, his host--or gaoler--had been standing immovable, as though
these investigations and their results had not the faintest interest for
him. John Ames, utterly baffled, gave up the search, and the terrible
conviction forced itself upon him that he was shut up in the very heart
of the earth with a malevolent lunatic. Yet there was that about the
other's whole personality which was not compatible with the lunatic
theory; a strong, mesmeric, compelling force, as far removed from
insanity in any known phase as it could possibly be. Power was
proclaimed large in every look, in every utterance.
"Was I right?" he said. "But patience, John Ames; you must be pitifully
wrapped up in this--`friend' of yours, to lose your head in that
unwonted fashion. Unwonted--yes. I know you, you see, better than you
do me. Well, I won't try your patience any longer. Had you not
interrupted me it would have been better for you; I was going on to say
that while I saw danger I saw, also, succour--rescue--safety."
"Safety? Rescue?" echoed John Ames, in almost an awed tone, but one
that was full of a great thankfulness and relief. "Ah, well, my awful
anxiety was deserved. Forgive me the interruption."
Even then it did not occur to him, the level-headed, the thinking, the
judicious, that here was a man--a strange one certainly--who had just
told him a cock-and-bull story about events he could not possibly know,
with the result of driving him perfectly frantic with anxiety and a
sense of his own helplessness. Why not? Because the narrative had been
unfolded with a knowledge stamped upon the narrator's countenance that
was as undeniable as the presence of the narrator himself. Strange to
say, not for a moment did it occur to him to question it.
He looked at the seer; a steadfast, penetrating, earnest glance. The
face was a refined one; handsome, clear-cut, furrowing somewhat with age
and hardness; but it was the face of one who had renounced all--hence
its power; of one who, for some reason or other, was a bitter hater of
his species, yet which as surely bore traces of a great overwhelming
sorrow, capabilities of a vast and selfless love. Who was this strange
being? What his tragic past? John Ames, thus striving to penetrate it,
felt all his repulsion for the other melt away into a warm, indefinable
sense of sympathy. Then he replied--
"In using the expression `wrapped up in,' you have used the right one.
If harm were to befall her I should feel that life had no more value."
"Then how will you face the--parting of the ways?"
The question chilled upon its hearer. Was it a prophecy?
"The parting of the ways?" he echoed slowly, comprehending the other's
meaning. "Why should there be any parting?"
"Because it is the way of life."
And with the harsh, jeering, mirthless laugh which accompanied the
cynicism, the stranger's countenance became once more transformed. The
stare of hate and repulsion came into it again, and he turned away. But
in the mind of his hearer there arose a vision of that last farewell,
and he felt reassured--yet not. Coming from any other, he would have
laughed at the utterance as a mere cynical commonplace, but from this
one it impressed him as a dire prophecy.
"There will come a time when you will look back upon these rough
wanderings of yours--the two of you--as a dream of Paradise, John Ames.
Hourly danger; scarce able to compass the means of existence; unknown
country swarming with enemies; what a fearful experience it seems!
Yet--how you will look back to it, will long for it! Ah, yes, I know;
for your experience was once mine."
"Once yours?"
"Once mine." Then, with sudden change of tone and demeanour--"And now,
be advised by me, and restore Nature a little. You will find the
wherewithal in that chest, for you may need all your strength."
Had it been anybody else, John Ames might have thought it somewhat
unhostlike of the other to leave him to do all the foraging for himself,
but somehow in this case it seemed all right. He could hardly have
imagined this strange being bustling about over such commonplace work as
rummaging out food. So he opened the chest indicated, and found it well
stored with creature comforts. He set out, upon the table which had so
startled him at first, enough for his present wants, and turned to speak
to his host. But the latter was no longer there. He looked in the
other apartment. That, too, was empty!
Weird and uncanny as this disappearance was, it disconcerted John Ames
less than it would have done at first. In was in keeping with the place
and its strange occupant, for now, as he gazed around, he noted that the
rock in places was covered with strange hieroglyphics. He had seen
Bushman drawings in the caves of the Drakensberg, executed with
wonderful clearness and a considerable amount of rude skill. These,
however, seemed the production of a civilised race, and that in the dim
ages of a remote past, probably the race which was responsible for the
ancient gold workings whereof the land showed such plentiful remains.
At any other time the investigation of these hieroglyphics would have
afforded him a rare interest, at present he had enough to think about.
But if his host--or gaoler--chose to disappear into the earth or air at
will it was no concern of his, and he had not as yet found any great
encouragement to curiosity in that quarter. Meanwhile, he set to work
to make a hearty breakfast--or dinner--or whatever it might be, for he
had no idea of time, his watch having been smashed in his fall.
Strangely enough, a feeling of complete confidence had succeeded to his
agony of self-reproach and anxiety as to Nidia's safety. Stranger, too,
that such should be inspired by the bare word of this marvellous being
who held him, so far, in his power. Yet there it was, this conviction.
It surprised him. It was unaccountable. Yet there it was.
Among other creature comforts he had found in the cupboard was a bottle
of whisky. He mixed himself a modest "peg." But somehow the taste
brought back the terrible tragedy in Inglefield's hut, that, perforce,
being the last time he had drunk any, and a sort of disgust for the
spirit came over him.
So did something else--a sadden and unaccountable drowsiness, to wit.
He strove to combat it, but fruitlessly. Returning to his couch, he lay
down, and fell into a deep and heavy sleep.