Julie followed her guide up the hill, reflecting that strange lives must be expected to make strange men. Adams pointed out a flat stone for a seat, and, drawing a long breath, dropped down upon another.
“How long have you been here?” he began; “and where do you think you are going? That’s what we always want to know.”
Julie explained the uncertainty she faced. He looked at her keenly.
“I used to be in Guindulman,” he said. “It’s one of the three garrisons on the island, including this place and Tarlac—only a battalion altogether.”
She returned to him his question—the genesis of everything in the East. “And you—how long?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Year and a half. I’ve lost all track of time.” He pointed to some pensively quiescent hills. “Could you fasten time, or change to them? As it was in the beginning, so it shall ever be, world without end. You get up in the morning and go to bed at night, till your brain reels. I hate this eternity. I want to live or I want to die.”
“Why do they leave you? It’s wicked!”
“Why do they send a mere child like you to Nahal? We’re grist for the mill. In order that big things shall come forth from it, the wheels must grind exceeding fine. You and I are slated for powder.
“This is my private little hell. I’ve got to keep the old man from running amuck and the men from breaking out. But what I want to tell you right now—because we are going to be such awfully good friends—is that I am sick of my job, and I’m afraid that I’m going to break out too. I’ve lost my perspective. They might have let me go out for just a little while. All the time, I’m in insurrection inside. I seem to have slipped some vital moorings—and to be adrift.”
“But you wouldn’t yield now, after struggling so long?” Julie pleaded. “Oh! I’m so sorry for you!”