the mysterious and apparently meaningless
sentence:--

"That which is alive and hath known death, and that which is dead yet
can never die, for in the Circle of the Spirit life is naught and death
is naught. Yea, all things live for ever, though at times they sleep and
are forgotten."

The morning came at last, but when it came I found that I was too stiff
and sore to rise. About seven Job arrived, limping terribly, and with
his face the colour of a rotten apple, and told me that Leo had slept
fairly, but was very weak. Two hours afterwards Billali (Job called
him "Billy-goat," to which, indeed, his white beard gave him some
resemblance, or more familiarly, "Billy") came too, bearing a lamp in
his hand, his towering form reaching nearly to the roof of the little
chamber. I pretended to be asleep, and through the cracks of my eyelids
watched his sardonic but handsome old face. He fixed his hawk-like eyes
upon me, and stroked his glorious white beard, which, by the way,
would have been worthy a hundred a year to any London barber as an
advertisement.

"Ah!" I heard him mutter (Billali had a habit of muttering to himself),
"he is ugly--ugly as the other is beautiful--a very Baboon, it was a
good name. But I like the man. Strange now, at my age, that I should
like a man. What says the proverb--'Mistrust all men, and slay him whom
thou mistrustest overmuch; and as for women, flee from them, for they
are evil, and in the end will destroy thee.' It is a good proverb,
especially the last part of it: I think that it must have come down from
the ancients. Nevertheless I like this Baboon, and I wonder where they
taught him his tricks, and I trust that _She_ will not bewitch him. Poor
Baboon! he must be wearied after that fight. I will go lest I should
awake him."

I waited till he had turned and was nearly through the entrance, walking
softly on tiptoe, and then I called after him.

"My father," I said, "is it thou?"

"Yes, my son, it is I; but let me not disturb thee. I did but come to
see how thou didst fare, and to tell thee that those who would have
slain thee, my Baboon, are by now far on their road to _She_. _She_ said
that ye also were to come at once, but I fear ye cannot yet."

"Nay," I said, "not till we have recovered a little; but have me borne
out into the daylight, I pray thee, my father. I love not this place."

"Ah, no," he answered, "it hath a sad air. I remember when I was a boy I
found the body of a f