“Nada? Do you still live, Nada?”
“Yea,” she answered hoarsely. “Water! give me water!”
Next she heard a sound as of a great snake dragging itself along painfully. A while passed, then a trembling hand thrust a little gourd of water through the hole. She drank, and now she could speak, though the water seemed to flow through her veins like fire.
“Is it indeed you, Umslopogaas?” she said, “or are you dead, and do I dream of you?”
“It is I, Nada,” said the voice. “Hearken! have you drawn the rock home?”
“Alas! yes,” she answered. “Perhaps, if the two of us strive at it, it will move.”
“Ay, if our strength were what it was—but now! Still, let us try.”
So they strove with a rock, but the two of them together had not the strength of a girl, and it would not stir.
“Give over, Umslopogaas,” said Nada; “we do but waste the time that is left to me. Let us talk!”
For awhile there was no answer, for Umslopogaas had fainted, and Nada beat her breast, thinking that he was dead.