“But my lord speaks strangely—as he did that night when the serpent crawled into the room. He has not been alarmed? Yes, I know—by the terrible storm.”
“Think—think it was that?” I faltered.
“Yes, my lord,” he said eagerly; “but it is gone now. Can I get anything for my lord?”
“No; not now,” I said. And at last he left the tent.
I was lord and master, according to Salaman; but I felt quite a slave as I lay there, afraid to move lest he should come back. And as I listened, I heard him go round the tent to try all the ropes, two others being with him, as I judged by the voices. While they went quietly round, I listened with eager ear, fully expecting some alarm to be raised, and my messenger, whoever he was, to be discovered.
But I heard the men go right round, and return to their own tent; and then, as soon as I felt it to be safe, I crawled from my couch and made my way to the lamp, trembling with eagerness to read the message that had been sent, I hoped, by Brace.
The paper was a mere scrap doubled up quite small, and, as I opened it, and held it close to the light, my eyes fell on these characters, scrawled in a very feeble hand, with some kind of pencil which left a very uncertain mark—
There were faint traces of similar lines above and below, but they were so rubbed as to be undecipherable; while, as to the above, fancy my chagrin and disappointment as I turned the paper over, then back, and scanned the crabbed shorthand-like characters over and over again, but only to grow more and more confused, for I could make no sense of it whatever. Even if the upper and lower lines had been plain, I am afraid that I should have been no wiser. Certainly I had gone through a long study of the Eastern languages, and this bore a strong resemblance to some of the characters; but what it meant, I had no more idea than a babe.
I remained by the lamp, puzzling over that scrap of paper till my brain began to swim; and at last, wearied out, and in utter despair, I went back to my couch and threw myself down, to lie and think. And all the time I knew that this might be a message bidding me be quite ready, for an effort was to be made, perhaps that very night, to rescue me and restore me to my friends.
That it must be something of the kind, I had no doubt; but how foolish it seemed to be of Brace to trust another to write his message! He might have anticipated that it would be badly written.