296 TROPIC DAYS 



would he, agitated by superstitious awe, dare to venture 

 into the haunt of the evil spirit when he began to realise 

 that I, too, had fallen into the clutches he so much 

 dreaded ? Yet he must come ! Of what special im- 

 piety had I been guilty that so rare and terrible a fate 

 should have been reserved for me. He must come ! 



Yes. Listen ! I hear his coo-ee far below ! He is 

 making his way up the ravine ! And with all m}' vocal 

 power I coo-eed and jTllcd. But the muffling rocks 

 stifled all noise at lips. Listen ! Yes ! The sound 

 again — merely the mellow cadences of a swamp pheasant 

 whooping among the bladj^ grass. 



Wylo dared not venture to the vcr}' door of the cave 

 of the winds. I was alone with m^^ fate ! Could I 

 master it ? 



The clean-cut shadow crept up the rock, and with it 

 the colour splash receded. As I gazed it glittered and 

 was gone. It would not be visible again until the next 

 afternoon. Would I be here to watch it illuminate the 

 rock once more? Could I contain myself until then, 

 and perhaps after, and for day after day, until the last ? 

 And were my bones to be added to the secret horde 

 mouldering within a few feet of the mountain-top ? 

 A few feet of nothingness — mere empty space — separated 

 me from lost and lovely liberty, and with frantic hands 

 I strove against the hard face of the rock, and cried aloud 

 in agonising protest. 



The old rock had disregarded similar protests and 

 supplications, and had endured like infantile pushings ! 

 Call, and who shall listen ? Push and shove and fight, 

 and what availed it ? 



In my delirium I cursed and blasphemed, and "full 

 of shriek^^nge was that sory place." 



Darkness followed brief twilight, and up the ravine 

 came the murmuring I had heard below — a sobbing 



