“Well, there is our future provided for,” he ejaculated. “Who would have thought of meeting such a divine creature here, Wyzinski? Fancy such a jewel shut up in that crumbling old fort. Why, the Amatongas even could take it.”
“There is a much more warlike tribe here to the north, named the Landeens, who have taken it more than once,” replied the missionary.
“And might do so again,” mused the other, “this very night.”
“Don’t you think you might utilise your light infantry education?” asked Wyzinski.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean if you were to run away, as you did from the hippopotamus.”
“What, run away from the Landeens?”
“No, from the lady,” laughed Wyzinski; “I think it would be the wisest plan.”
“Don’t be a fool, Wyzinski; I am not strong enough to bear chaffing.”
“But quite strong enough to go down the stream—of course I don’t mean the stream of life, but of the Zambesi—with Dona Isabel de Maxara?”