“Hah!” sighed Oliver, as he rose from his long deep drink. “What a paradise, but how awfully lonely!”
He noted then that the top of the mountain was in view, but apparently no nearer; and setting to work he soon collected enough wood for a fire, and lit it as a protection, before gathering some of the little figs and some golden yellow fruits from a kind of passion-flower, both proving agreeable to the palate. These supplemented by the food he had in a satchel, formed a respectable meal, which he ended as the last light died out; while before him as he sat by his fire there was a great glowing ball of light high up, one which resolved itself into the cloud, evidently lit up by the glowing lava within the crater.
“A nice companion for a traveller,” said Oliver, half aloud. “Now, then, for my cool lofty bedroom in the tree-fork. I wonder whether I shall sleep?”
His inner consciousness said immediately “No;” for as he made his way in among the buttress-like roots of the tree to try and climb up, there came from within a few feet of his face a deep-toned snarling roar.
Chapter Eleven.
A Fight with Fate.
“Aren’t had a drop, sir. Swear I aren’t,” cried Smith.
“Silence man, silence,” said Panton, as he sat upon the burnt-up earth, holding his head with both hands, while Wriggs staggered about close at hand, laughing idiotically.