“But you are an Englishman!” I panted, as a terrible thought, half painful, half filled with hope, flashed through my brain.
“Englishman! yes—Englishman! Before I was here—before I was ill! Come, quick! escape for your life! Go!”
“And you?”
He was silent—so silent that I put out my hands and touched him, to make sure that he had not gone, and I found that he was resting his head upon his hands.
“Will you go with me to my friends?” I said, trembling still, for the thought that had come to me was gaining strength.
“Friends!” he said softly; “friends! Yes, I had friends before I came—before I came!”
He said this in a curious dreamy tone, and I forced the idea back. It was impossible, but at the same time my heart leaped for joy. Here was an Englishman dwelling among the savages—a prisoner, or one who had taken up this life willingly, and if he could dwell among them so could my father, who must be somewhere here.
“Tell me,” I began; but he laid his hand upon my lips.
“Hist! not a sound,” he said. “The people sleep lightly; come with me.”
He took my hand in his and led me out boldly past a black who was lying a short distance from my hut, and then right across the broad opening surrounded by the natives’ dwellings, and then through a grove of trees to a large hut standing by itself.