n reached it early, converting it into an oven of stone. The wounded
man was suffering acutely; his wound had become a burning agony that had
no longer a limit: the pain of it penetrated his whole being. Soon after
the black boy's departure Ryder ceased to toss and turn, movement only
increasing his torment. He now lay very still on the floor of the cave;
his eyes had a feline lustre in the dim light, his face was as white and
hollow as that of a corpse, saving for the fever spot that burned in
either cheek. Gradually his mind was drifting from his danger and his
sufferings--it was fashioning strange images, mere dreams, but
startlingly realistic. From the first one or two he reverted to sanity
and to a fleeting sense of his position, and then the images trooped in
again, the visions reappeared--beautiful visions of coolness, and
sweetness, and shade that, it seemed later, only came to tantalize him.
He was now a soul in hell, tortured with the sight of clustering green
trees and flowing streams. Through all these dreams one sweet sound
prevailed. He recognised it at length: it was the music of falling
water--beautiful, cold, clear water, falling in thin sheets from the high
rock and breaking into snow on the edge of the deep stone basin. He
lifted himself upon his hands and listened. Yes, there was a waterfall
below him, so near that he might almost reach and dip his fingers into
it, and he was set in flame that lapped him round, licking his face,
dipping its forked tongue into the hollows of his eyes, penetrating to
his heart, and coursing in all his veins. He was mad to stay there and
suffer, when he might slip from the grip of the fiend, and lave his limbs
in the pool and drink from the cascade. Ryder dragged himself from the
cave, upsetting the water the half-caste had placed near his bed as he
did so. The water ran over his fingers, but he did not heed it. Outside
he raised himself to his feet with the help of a tree, and, staggering a
few paces down the slope, pitched on his face, cutting his mouth badly on
the stones. The wound in his neck opened, and the blood oozed from the
bandages, smearing his hands as he dragged himself along.

It was like some wild beast with a mortal wound in its breast slowly
crawling to the water to die. Every few yards he thought the stream was
reached and dipping his mouth to drink, cut his lips oh the granite. He
had come to the level ground banking the creek, and was almost at the
e