"It is here," Eg-Anteouen replied slowly, rising to his feet.
"Take us to it."
"Morhange," I said, suddenly anxious, "night is falling. We will see nothing. And perhaps it is still some way off."
"It is hardly five hundred paces," Eg-Anteouen replied. "The cave is full of dead underbrush. We will set it on fire and the Captain will see as in full daylight."
"Come," my comrade repeated.
"And the camels?" I hazarded.
"They are tethered," said Eg-Anteouen, "and we shall not be gone long."
He had started toward the black mountain. Morhange, trembling with excitement, followed. I followed, too, the victim of profound uneasiness. My pulses throbbed. "I am not afraid," I kept repeating to myself. "I swear that this is not fear."
And really it was not fear. Yet, what a strange dizziness! There was a mist over my eyes. My ears buzzed. Again I heard Eg-Anteouen's voice, but multiplied, immense, and at the same time, very low.
"The Daughters of the Night are seven...."