The madness indeed possessed Kulmervan and his friend.
When the sun rose Alan made one more attempt to leave the enclosure. Crawling on his belly, he wormed his way round the roots of the bushes. At last he discovered an opening. He crept through it, low upon the ground. When he got through, a network of pathways confronted him, but it was quite easy to discover the pathway Kulmervan had taken. Feeling secure in his flight, he now refrained from attempting to cover his tracks. By the broken grass and branches, the general upheaval of the soil, Alan was convinced that through this part of their retreat, they had dragged their unwilling victim along the path, so he ground his teeth and swore softly under his breath.
Twisting and turning the path opened out into a valley—a valley of rocks and stones between two mighty mountains. The scene was desolate, awe inspiring, dreary—almost terrifying in its grandeur. For perhaps two miles he followed it, until again it narrowed and the character of the scene changed. Once more it was a leafy lane he was traversing, that might have been in Devonshire, with its red earth and dainty ferns.
At intervals during the day he heard the echo, and it led him on—on—to his love.
A sound came upon his ear; it was that of voices—real voices, this time—no longer an echo. Cautiously he crept from tree to tree. There in the centre of a clearing sat Kulmervan. His robe was torn, his skin scratched—his eyes held a look of madness. At his feet stretched Waiko, listening eagerly to his friend’s counsel. And tied to a tree, her fair hair covering her, her garments lying strewn on the ground beside her, torn from her body by her half mad kinsman, Kulmervan—was Chlorie. Her head was sunk on her breast. She was breathing heavily.
Alan dared not move—it was two against one, and he had to save himself for her. Silent as a sleuth hound, he watched and waited; and even as he did so Chlorie lifted her head and gazed across the bodies of the two Keemarnians. Through the leafy spaces their eyes met. Into hers came recognition, followed by a flush of shame, as she shook her hair closer still about her gleaming body. Then she smiled a trustful smile, and dropped her head once more upon her breast.
CHAPTER X
THE CAVE OF WHISPERING MADNESS
Throughout the night Alan watched. Never did Kulmervan move from his place in the clearing—never did his eyes close nor did he show the slightest inclination to sleep. Towards morning Waiko raised himself from the ground. He was pitiable to look upon. Led on by a stronger will the madness had come upon him also. But it was a weaker madness than that which affected Kulmervan—it was a madness that chattered and gibbered in the sun, that laughed and cackled insanely—a madness that was pitiful to behold.
Alan watched through the leafy branches, and as the dawn rose, many times he met Chlorie’s questioning gaze with looks of encouragement and help. And she knew that when the time was ripe, this strange Lord from another world would save and deliver her.
As Kulmervan still made no attempt to move, Alan wondered whether it would be possible to overpower him. He made a movement and the slight sound was heard. Kulmervan sprang to his feet and looked round, and Alan saw he was clutching the huge limb of a tree—a formidable weapon in a madman’s hands. He was evidently not satisfied, and peered round the tree trunks carefully. Quietly Alan crept behind a large bush, and dropping on his belly he wormed himself underneath it until he was completely hidden.