The crackling of a twig was heard by the madman, who, with his dormant passions aroused was a dangerous enemy. He spoke sharply to Waiko. “What sound is that, my Waiko? Is it the stranger that tracketh us?”
“I know not,” said Waiko shuddering. “Oh, Kulmervan, my friend, let us leave the Ipso-Rorka here, and flee from the wrath of her father.”
“Nonsense, my Waiko! When the Rorka is told that his daughter, Chlorie the Fair, Chlorie the Pure, has spent forty and one nights with us in the darkness, he will be glad to give his soiled goods into my keeping for ever. Then in good time, I shall become Rorka. Shall I not punish my Chlorie then, for her indifference and insults?”
Waiko shuddered.
“My Chlorie,” cried Kulmervan suddenly, his manner changing. “Will you not promise me your hand? Oh, my darling, forgive me—I love you so—I love you. Give me your hand—swear before Waiko that you’ll take me for your mate. I’ll be so good to you—I’ll love you so” His voice was pleading. His earnestness could not be doubted, yet Alan knew it was but a moment’s lull in the disordered brain.
Chlorie never answered a word, and her silence drove Kulmervan again to threats. Tearing a handful of withes from the side of a running brook, he lashed the captive Princess across her legs with the stinging rushes. With an oath Alan burst from his hiding place, and was on the back of his enemy, before Kulmervan could recover from his astonishment.
Then followed a terrific fight. Alan with all his knowledge of the scientific sport was unable to get in a knockout blow. He parried and thrust, and landed Kulmervan a heavy blow under his jaw. His opponent tottered for a moment, but the blow had no lasting effect, and the heavy Keemarnian struck mightier blows still at his enemy. Waiko was entirely demoralized. He stood watching the fight—his breath coming in gasps, his blue eyes staring, his teeth chattering. As an ally, he was useless to Kulmervan; as an enemy he counted as naught to Alan.
Chlorie, tied tightly to the tree, was unable to move. Her wide open eyes followed the fighters in an agony of spirit; but not a sound came from her lips. True to the tradition of her land, the daughter of the Rorka gave no audible sign of her terror. Alan knew he was weakening. Imperceptibly at first he lost ground, but gradually he realized that his blows had no effect upon the Keemarnian. His hasty rush into the field of battle was worse than useless—he could no longer help his love. The Keemarnian gave him one terrific blow in the stomach. His wind went—he gasped, choked for breath, crumpled up and sank to the ground.
Kulmervan left his vanquished enemy’s side and went to Waiko who had been stupidly watching the scene.
“Watch him,” he commanded. “If he show any sign of awakening, give him a blow with this. It will be sufficient to put him to sleep again,” and he tossed the heavy stick beside the prostrate body.