“Nay, Jâl,” the woman answered, “I am not mad, though madness has been nigh to me of late.”
“Neither am I named Jâl or Darkness,” answered the dwarf with irritation; “cease to speak folly, and tell the White Lord whence you come, for I weary of this talk.”
“If you are not Jâl, Black One, the thing is strange, for as Jâl is so you are. But perchance it does not please you, having put on the flesh, to avow yourself before me. At the least be it as you will. If you are not Jâl, then I am safe from your vengeance, and if you are Jâl I pray you forget the sins of my youth and spare me.”
“Who is Jâl?” asked Leonard curiously.
“Nay, I know not,” answered the woman, with a sudden change of manner. “Hunger and weariness have turned my brain, and I spoke wandering words. Forget them and give me food, White Man,” she added in a piteous tone, “give me food, for I starve.”
“There is scant fare here,” answered Leonard, “but you are welcome to it. Follow me, mother,” and he led the way across the donga to the cave, the woman limping after him painfully.
There Otter gave her meat, and she ate as one eats who has gone hungry for long, greedily and yet with effort. When she had finished she looked at Leonard with her keen dark eyes and said:
“Say, White Lord, are you also a slave-trader?”
“No,” he answered grimly, “I am a slave.”
“Who is your master then—this Black One here?”