her side?"

So he lay for an hour, and then slowly rose and looked round. There was
a faint light in the sky.

"It will be light in another hour," he said to himself, and he again sat
down. Suddenly he started. Had someone spoken, or had he fancied it?

"Wait till I come."

He seemed to hear the words plainly, just as he had heard Rujub's
summons before.

"That's it; it is Rujub. How is it that he can make me hear in this way?
I am sure it was his voice. Anyhow, I will wait. It shows he is thinking
of me, and I am sure he will help me. I know well enough I could do
nothing by myself."

Bathurst assumed with unquestioning faith that Isobel Hannay was alive.
He had no reason for his confidence. That first shower of grape might
have killed her as it killed others, but he would not admit the doubt
in his mind. Wilson's description of what had happened while he was
insensible was one of the grounds of this confidence.

He had heard women scream. Mrs. Hunter and her daughter were the only
other women in the boat. Isobel would not have screamed had those
muskets been pointed at her, nor did he think the others would have done
so. They screamed when they saw the natives about to murder those who
were with them. The three women were sitting together, and if one had
fallen by the grape shot all would probably have been killed. He felt
confident, therefore, that she had escaped; he believed he would have
known it had she been killed.

"If I can be influenced by this juggler, surely I should have felt it
had Isobel died," he argued, and was satisfied that she was still alive.

What, however, more than anything else gave him hope was the picture
on the smoke. "Everything else has come true," he said to himself; "why
should not that? Wilson spoke of the Doctor as dead. I will not believe
it; for if he is dead, the picture is false. Why should that thing of
all others have been shown to me unless it had been true? What seemed
impossible to me--that I should be fighting like a brave man--has
been verified. Why should not this? I should have laughed at such
superstition six months ago; now I cling to it as my one ground for
hope. Well, I will wait if I have to stay here until tomorrow night."

Noiselessly he moved about in the little wood, going to the edge and
looking out, pacing to and fro with quick steps, his face set in
a frown, occasionally muttering to himself. He was in a fever of
impatience. He longed to be doing so