Turning his eyes for one second to the figure of the sleeping man, he sprang to his feet, and crept softly across the ground. An open space was before him, but he did not hesitate, and, pressing on, was before the door of the prison in half a dozen strides. A moment sufficed to unlatch it, and swinging it back, he crawled in on all-fours, closing it after him with the greatest caution.
"And now for the prisoner," he said. "I must be careful how I awake him, for in his astonishment he might unwittingly give the alarm and ruin all my plans. But first, where is he?"
Kneeling upon the floor of hard-beaten clay, he stared into the darkness in which the interior of the dwelling was buried, endeavouring to make out the figure of the prisoner. And all the while, though he fought to steady himself, and struggled to keep his limbs from trembling, his heart would beat against his ribs with such force, and with such a resounding noise, that it threatened to betray him. And who could blame him for being so excited, for being so unnerved that he was almost incapable of any movement, and knelt there as if carved in stone? Who, indeed, with such interests at stake? Had he not toiled over miles and miles of sandy desert and sun-baked ground to reach this spot? Was not this almost the summit of his hopes and his ambitions? Here he was, after long marching and infinite toil, in reach of his prize at last, within sight of the end of his arduous task, and, wonder of wonders, the thought of it all had so excited him, so unmanned him, indeed, that for more than a minute he was helpless, a mere child in the heart of the enemy's camp. But the change did not last for long; for of a sudden his eyes fell upon a huddled figure lying in the corner, and with a thrill he realized that it was the white prisoner.
"Father! father!" he murmured, with lips which would tremble in spite of himself. "I am here—Jim! Your son—come to rescue you! Wake up, and talk to me."
But there was no answer to his words save a deep snore, and the sound of heavy breathing, which showed that the white prisoner was still fast asleep. A moment later, however, Jim had crawled to his side, and taking the very necessary precaution to place a finger upon the sleeper's lips, shook him gently with his other hand.
"Wake up, father," he whispered, placing his lips close to his ear. "It is Jim. Don't you know me?"
"Who's that? What's the matter?" asked the prisoner, suddenly sitting up and speaking as if bewildered. "I swear that I heard someone talking in English. But no, it cannot be the case. I've dreamt the same thing time and again, until my heart is sick at the thought. No, I am a slave to these brutes, and shall remain so till the end of my days."
Strange! The voice seemed harsher than that to which Jim was accustomed. But, no doubt, hardship had altered it.
"Don't try to sleep any more," he whispered eagerly. "The voice is real. I am here—Jim! Can't you tell?"
The prisoner, who had again thrown himself upon the floor, shot up into a sitting position as if he had been struck, and sat there staring at the figure beside him, as if unable to believe his ears.