“We were just going to sally forth to look for you—and fight if need be,” said Voalavo.
“There was no need for that,” returned Ravonino, “the Lord was our protector.”
“Where is Reni-Mamba? Have you heard, mother, about your son?”
Reni and Ramatoa, who had pressed forward, looked surprised, for their friend did not speak like a man who had bad news to tell.
“Laihova has told me, truly,” replied Reni, still whimpering, “that my dear boy is worse than dead.”
“Not so, mother,” said Ravonino, taking the poor woman’s hand, “be of good cheer; Mamba is not dead. I know not indeed where he is at this moment, having been pressed in my own flight, but I know that the Queen has set him free—this much I learned from our white friend, Mark Breezy. More I cannot tell, but is not this cause for joy and gratitude? Come, let us return thanks to our Father.”
Most of those present were glad to give vent to their feelings in prayer and praise, though some there were who, having been led to join the band by the mere force of circumstances, had little heart in the matter. Certainly Voalavo was not among these last, for the enthusiasm which inclined him to fight with violence also induced him to pray with vigour.
When this appropriate act of worship was over, food was prepared for the wearied travellers, and in a short time the whole party was seated round the cooking-fire, illuminated by the torches on the wall, and listening eagerly to Ravonino as he recounted his adventures.
“I fear much,” he said in conclusion, “that another dark season is about to fall on us. It may be like the last—or worse.”
Ravonino here referred, (and with bated breath), to the terrible outbreak of persecution which had occurred several years previously, when, at the lowest estimate, about two thousand men and women were severely punished, and many tortured and slain, because they professed or favoured the religion of Jesus.