“It makes a sort of shrieking sound,” said he.
“What do you mean?” said I. “Is’t a wild beast?”
“I think it’s a wild beast of hell,” said he. “I know nought of it. The island is full of mysteries. Ask me no more questions. I am sick at heart.”
We went a little farther, and then stopped; for a lamentable and piercing cry was lifted in the night.
“What is it?” cried I aghast. But Ambrose answered not.
The cry had sounded from in front of us. We began to advance again, but had not gone thirty paces when we heard a sort of gasping sound that came from the side of a thicket in our path. Hasting thither, we spied the form of a man lying huddled upon the ground.
We bent over him, peering into his face. ’Twas ghastly white, and all twisted to one side as with strong pain. His eyes were shut. Presently they opened, glazed and staring, and we perceived that he was dead.
I looked to see where he was stricken; but found no hurt upon him.
“Let us be gone,” said Ambrose; and immediately started off.
He went swiftly, but retired into the inward of his mind, so that he returned me no answer when at any time I spoke to him, nor gave any sign that he heard me. So we came, at last, through the second wood, to the entry of the Cells, having met with no man, nor with any further adventure. And, indeed, what we had met withal was enough, for me!