I was in the
cave, for the place had only one single speck of light. The falling
wall of water stood out grey green and ghostly on the left, and I
noticed that higher up it was lit as if from the open air. There must
be a great funnel in the hillside in that direction. 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-light, and I saw what was beside
the lantern. Laputa knelt on the ashes of the fire which 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 lit something which I was not unprepared for. Blood was
welling from his side, and spreading in a dark pool over the ashes.

I had no fear, only a great pity--pity for lost romance, for vain
endeavour, for fruitless courage. 'Greeting, Inkulu!' I said in
Kaffir, as if I had been one of his indunas.

He turned his head and slowly and painfully 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 pellucid diamond above to translucent emerald below. A dusky
twilight sought out the extreme corners of the cave. Laputa'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.

'It is the storekeeper from Umvelos',' I answered.

'The storekeeper of Umvelos',' he repeated. 'God has used the weak
things of the world to confound the strong. A king dies because a
pedlar is troublesome. What do they call you, man? You deserve to be
remembered.'

I told him 'David Crawfurd.'

'Crawfurd,' he repeated, '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,' I cried, 'it was not me. You trusted Henriques, and you got your
fingers on his neck too late. Don't say I didn't warn you.'

'You warned me, and I will repay you. I will make you rich, Crawfurd.
You are a trader, and want money. I am a king, 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 I 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 mountai