“Brother,” said Ramatoa, anxiously, laying a hand on the man’s arm, “are you alone?”
“Yes. Have not Ravoninohitriniony and Rafaravavy arrived?”
“No. And—and what of Mamba?” asked Ramatoa.
An expression of profound sadness crossed the features of Laihova. Dropping his eyes on the ground he stood silent. For a few moments his sister did not speak, but her breast heaved with suppressed emotion. At last she asked in a low voice—
“Has he been martyred?”
“No—he is not dead. But—he is condemned to slavery in chains for life.”
Terrible though this fate was, the news of it evidently conveyed a measure of relief to Ramatoa, for it assured her that her lover was at all events not dead. Where there is life there is hope!
“I fear this will kill his mother,” she said. “Poor Reni-Mamba is so full of love and gentleness, and her sorrows have been very heavy. Strange that her husband and son should share the same fate—perpetual slavery! Yet it is not perpetual. Death will set them free. Come to the cave and let us break the sad news.”
As they walked through the forest Ramatoa gave her brother a rapid outline of what had occurred since the day he left.
“They will be deeply grieved,” she said, “that our friends are not with you. We had all hoped that you would arrive together. A messenger who has just come did indeed tell us that you had been separated from them, but all supposed that you would easily overtake them.”