“I am sorry you should think so, madam,” he answered stiffly.
“Now go off in a pet, and leave me to my own thoughts, which, of course, are very pleasant company for a lonely girl among a lot of morose and fiery men, who cannot see that the strain upon her is almost too much.” She said this with a smile, but Hume noticed that the lips trembled while they smiled, and that in the eyes there was a worn, almost wild, look.
“Take my arm, Miss Laura,” he said gently. “Let me tell you my story; it may interest you.”
She took his arm with almost a convulsive grasp, and for a moment she bent her head; then with a soft and womanly look she asked him to talk and not to heed her silence. So they paced up and down, six paces one way, six another, and were necessarily thrown together by the narrowness of the passage. He talked of his uncle, the tough old hunter, of the simple life he led, of his sacrifice and quiet death, and a sweeter look stole into her face.
“And so,” she said, “you have put aside the quest entrusted to you by that good old man and thrown in your lot with me? I thank you, but you must find the Golden Rock.”
“If it is there,” he said, smiling at her eagerness.
“Oh, it exists; I am sure of it. I can see the gleam of it now;” and she shaded her eyes with her hand.
“But it is not on the sea,” he said laughingly.
“I am looking beyond the sea, among your African mountains, to a flame that glows under the rays of the morning sun, and there is a ring of red around the flame. Ah! you will encounter many dangers.”
“What will it matter,” he said, “since I am alone in the world?”