As, one after another, various members of the party detailed the sad sufferings or deaths of relatives and friends, the feelings of all became deeply affected with grief, those of some with a considerable dash also of indignation. Among the latter of course was Voalavo.
“Why,” he cried suddenly, giving his hands the accustomed pistol-shot clap that betrayed his inability to contain himself, “why do we suffer all this? Why not assemble the tribes, go up at once to Antananarivo, take it, cut off the Queen’s head, and put Prince Rakota on the throne?”
“Ay, why not?” demanded several of the more fiery young men.
“Because the Lord tells us to overcome evil with good,” answered Ravonino, quietly. Then, wishing to draw attention from the subject, he inquired for the messenger who had brought news of his own escape.
All looked round as if expecting the man to answer for himself, but no one replied.
Search was made, and then it was discovered that the messenger had hastily taken his departure from the place.