I rose and looked. In the clear, starlight night I could just discern the mighty outline of the mountains of Mur. Above them the firmament was suffused with a strange red glow. I formed my own conclusion at once, but only said:
“Let us go to tell Orme,” and led the way to where he had lain down under a tree.
He was not sleeping; indeed, I do not think he had closed his eyes all night, the night of Maqueda’s marriage. On the contrary, he was standing on a little knoll staring at the distant mountains and the glow above them.
“Mur is on fire,” he said solemnly. “Oh, my God, Mur is on fire!” and turning he walked away.
Just then Roderick joined us.
“Fung got into Mur,” he said, “and now cut throat of all Abati. We well out of that, but pig Joshua have very warm wedding feast, because Barung hate Joshua who try to catch him not fairly, which he never forget; often talk of it.”
“Poor Maqueda!” I said to Higgs, “what will happen to her?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, “but although once, like everybody else, I adored that girl, really as a matter of justice she deserves all she gets, the false-hearted little wretch. Still it is true,” he added, relenting, “she gave us very good camels, to say nothing of their loads.”
But I only repeated, “Poor Maqueda!”
That day we made but a short journey, since we wished to rest ourselves and fill the camels before plunging into the wilderness, and feeling sure that we should not be pursued, had no cause to hurry. At night we camped in a little hollow by a stream that ran at the foot of a rise. As dawn broke we were awakened by the voice of Roderick, who was on watch, calling to us in tones of alarm to get up, as we were followed. We sprang to our feet, seizing our rifles.