He trembled from head to foot, sitting very upright and gazing straight
before him. Left whom? Who called? We did not know. We could not
understand. I said at all hazards--

"Be firm."

The sound of my voice seemed to steady him into a sudden rigidity, but
otherwise he took no notice. He seemed to listen, to expect something
for a moment, then went on--

"He cannot come here--therefore I sought you. You men with white faces
who despise the invisible voices. He cannot abide your unbelief and your
strength."

He was silent for a while, then exclaimed softly--

"Oh! the strength of unbelievers!"

"There's no one here but you--and we three," said Hollis, quietly. He
reclined with his head supported on elbow and did not budge.

"I know," said Karain. "He has never followed me here. Was not the wise
man ever by my side? But since the old wise man, who knew of my trouble,
has died, I have heard the voice every night. I shut myself up--for
many days--in the dark. I can hear the sorrowful murmurs of women, the
whisper of the wind, of the running waters; the clash of weapons in the
hands of faithful men, their footsteps--and his voice! . . . Near . . .
So! In my ear! I felt him near . . . His breath passed over my neck. I
leaped out without a cry. All about me men slept quietly. I ran to the
sea. He ran by my side without footsteps, whispering, whispering old
words--whispering into my ear in his old voice. I ran into the sea; I
swam off to you, with my kriss between my teeth. I, armed, I fled before
a breath--to you. Take me away to your land. The wise old man has died,
and with him is gone the power of his words and charms. And I can tell
no one. No one. There is no one here faithful enough and wise enough
to know. It is only near you, unbelievers, that my trouble fades like a
mist under the eye of day."

He turned to me.

"With you I go!" he cried in a contained voice. "With you, who know so
many of us. I want to leave this land--my people . . . and him--there!"

He pointed a shaking finger at random over his shoulder. It was hard for
us to bear the intensity of that undisclosed distress. Hollis stared at
him hard. I asked gently--

"Where is the danger?"

"Everywhere outside this place," he answered, mournfully. "In every
place where I am. He waits for me on the paths, under the trees, in the
place where I sleep--everywhere but here."

He looked round the little cabin, at the painted beams, at the tarnished
va