hat profound silence, when not even the leaves
stirred or a frog croaked.

Suddenly as we came over a rise a little wind blew on the back of my
head, and a bitter chill came into the air. I knew from nights spent
in the open that it was the precursor of dawn. Sure enough, as I
glanced back, far over the plain a pale glow was stealing upwards into
the sky. In a few minutes the pall melted into an airy haze, and above
me I saw the heavens shot with tremors of blue light. Then the
foreground began to clear, and there before me, with their heads still
muffled in vapour, were the mountains.

Xenophon's Ten Thousand did not hail the sea more gladly than I
welcomed those frowning ramparts of the Berg.

Once again my weariness was eased. I cried to Colin, and together we
ran down into the wide, shallow trough which lies at the foot of the
hills. As the sun rose above the horizon, the black masses changed to
emerald and rich umber, and the fleecy mists of the summits opened and
revealed beyond shining spaces of green. Some lines of Shakespeare ran
in my head, which I have always thought the most beautiful of all
poetry:

'Night's candles are burned out, and jocund day
Walks tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.'

Up there among the clouds was my salvation. Like the Psalmist, I
lifted my eyes to the hills from whence came my aid.

Hope is a wonderful restorative. To be near the hills, to smell their
odours, to see at the head of the glens the lines of the plateau where
were white men and civilization--all gave me new life and courage.
Colin saw my mood, and spared a moment now and then to inspect a hole
or a covert. Down in the shallow trough I saw the links of a burn, the
Machudi, which flowed down the glen it was my purpose to ascend. Away
to the north in the direction of Majinje's were patches of Kaffir
tillage, and I thought I discerned the smoke from fires. Majinje's
womankind would be cooking their morning meal. To the south ran a thick
patch of forest, but I saw beyond it the spur of the mountain over
which runs the highroad to Wesselsburg. The clear air of dawn was like
wine in my blood. I was not free, but I was on the threshold of
freedom. If I could only reach my friends with the Prester's collar in
my shirt, I would have performed a feat which would never be forgotten.
I would have made history by my glorious folly. Breakfastless and
footsore, I was yet a proud man as I crossed the hollow to