CHAPTER XXII
THE TREASON OF H'YEMBA
Not yet even fully awake, Beatrice was conscious of a sudden, vast responsibility laid on her shoulders. She felt the thrill of leadership and command, for in her hands alone now rested the fate of the community.
Out of bed she sprang, her grief for the moment crushed aside, aquiver now with the spirit of defense against all ills that might menace the colony and her child.
“The cliff falls?” she cried, starting for the doorway.
“Yea, mistress! Hark!”
Both women heard a grating, crushing sound. The whole fabric of the cavern trembled again, as though shuddering; then, far below, a grinding crash reechoed--and now rose shouts, cries, wails of pain.
Already Beatrice was out of the door and running down the terrace.
“Yulcia! Yulcia!” the old woman stood screaming after her. “You must not go!”
She answered nothing, but ran the faster. Already she could see dust rising from the river-brink; and louder now the cries blended in an anguished chorus as she sped down the terrace.
What could have happened? How great was the catastrophe? What might the death-roll be?