Adventure, June 1911 — page 117: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Prester John. a breath of it came down the funnel. I saw that my hands were all bloody with the stains on the steps, and I rubbed them on the rock to clean them. Without a tremor I crossed the stone slab over the gorge and plunged into the dark alley that led to the inner chamber. As before, there was a light in front of me, but this time it was a pin-point and not the glare of many torches. I felt my way care- fully by the walls of the passage, though I did not really fear anything. It was only by the stopping of these lateral walls that . I knew I was in the Cave, for the place had only one single speck of light. The falling wall of water stood out gray-pgreen and ghostly on the left, and I noticed that higher up it was lit as if from the open air. I walked. a few paces and then I made out that, the spark in front was a lantern. My eyes were getting used to the half- ligt, and I saw what was beside the lantern. Laputa knelt on the ashes of the fire the Keeper had kindled three days before. He -knelt before, and half leaned on, a rude altar of stone. The lantern stood by him on the floor and its faint circle showed some- thing I was not unprepared for. Blood was welling from his side and spreading in a dark pool over the ashes. ay pity for the lost romance, for vain endeavor, for fruitless courage. “Greeting, Inkulu!”’ I said in Kaffir, as if I had been one of his udusas. . He turned his head and slowly and pain- fully rose to his feet. The place, it was clear, was lit from without and the daylight was growing. The wall of the river had become a sheet of jewels, passing from pel- lucid diamond above to the translucent emerald below. A dusky twilight sought out the extreme corners of the Cave. La- puta’s tall figure stood swaying above the white ashes, his hand pressed to his side. “Who is it?” he said, looking at me with blind eyes. “Tt is the storekeeper from Umvelos’,”’ I answered. “The storekeeper of Umvelos’,”’ he re- peated. ‘‘God has used the weak things of the world to confound the strong. A king dies: because a pedler is troublesome. What do they call you, man? You deserve to be remembered.” I told him, “David Crawfurd.”’ I HAD no fear, only a great pity— 303 “Crawfurd. Well, Crawfurd, you have been the little reef on which a great vessel has foundered. You stole the Collar and cut me off from my people, and then when I was weary the Portuguese killed me.” “No,” Icried, “it wasnotI! You trusted Henriques and you got your fingers on his — neck” too late. you.” “Vou warned me and I shall repay you. I will make you rich, Crawfurd. You are a trader and want money. Jam aking and want a throne. But I am dying and there will be no more kings in Africa.” - The mention of riches did not thrill me as J had expected, but the last words awakened a wild regret. I was hypnotized by the man. To see him going out was like seeing the fall of a great mountain. He stretched himself, gasping, and in the growing light I could see how broken he was. His cheeks were falling in, and his somber eyes had shrunk back in their sockets. He seemed an old, worn man standing there among the ashes, while the blood, which he made no effort to stanch, trickled down his side till it dripped on the floor. Don’t say I didn’t warn He had. ceased to be the Kaffir king or the Christian : minister, or indeed any one of his: former, parts. ments, and the man Laputa stood out be- yond and above the characters he had played, something strange and great and moving and terrible. “We met for the first time three days Death was stripping hinr to his ele- ago,” he said, “and now you will be the last to see the Inkulu.” | “Umvelos’ was not our first meeting,” I said. “Do you mind the Sabbath eight years since when you preached in the Free Kirk at Kirkcaple? I was the boy you chased from the shore, and I flung the stone that blacked your eye. Besides, I came out from England with you and Henriques and I was in the boat which took you from Durban to Delagoa Bay. You and I have been long acquainted, Mr. Laputa.” “It is the hand of God,” he said solemnly. “Your fate has been twisted with mine, and now you will die with me.”’ I did not understand this talk about dying. I was not mortally wounded like him, and I did not think Laputa had the strength to kill me even if he wished. But my mind was so impassive that I scarcely regarded his words. Go JOO ANUG SoCO)