Here the guide stopped short, and seemed to be in some perplexity. Mark Breezy, whose young and romantic spirit was deeply stirred by the prospect of adventure which his words had opened up, assured him with enthusiasm that whatever was possible for man to accomplish he might depend upon being at least vigorously attempted. To which assurance John Hockins begged to “putt the word ditto,” and the negro fervently added, “Das so—me too!”
“But how are we to find your friend,” asked Mark, “seeing that we don’t know him, and have never seen him?”
“My friend is not a man, but a—a woman, a young girl,” said Ravonino, with the slightest possible symptom of confusion, which opened the eyes of Mark instantly, and still further stirred his sympathies.
“Ravonino,” he exclaimed, suddenly grasping the guide’s hand, “treat me as a friend and trust me. You love this young girl! Is it not so? Nay, man, don’t be angry with me. I can’t help sympathising. Why, I know something of your—your—a—condition myself. The morning I left England, the very last person I said good-bye to was a fair young girl, with golden hair, and a rosebud mouth, and such lovely blue—”
“Das right, Massa,” burst in Ebony, with a crow of admiration. “It doos my bery heart good to see a man as is proud ob his sweet’art. I’s got one too, bress you! but she ain’t fair! No, she’s black as de kitchen chimbly, wid a bootiful flat nose, a mout’ like a coal-scuttle, an’ such eyes—oh!”
“Hold your tongue, Ebony! Now, am I not right, Ravonino?”
“You are right,” answered the guide, gravely, yet without displeasure. “My Rafaravavy is in danger, and I must save her from this murderess at all hazards. It is right, however, to tell you that if you attempt to aid me you will encounter both difficulty and danger.”
“Don’t mention that, friend. No true man would shrink from either in a good cause,” said Mark. “But when must we set out on this expedition?”
“By day-break to-morrow. Our new hiding-place is on our way, so the change will not delay us; and from what the fugitives have told us, I hope—indeed I feel sure—that the Queen will do no further mischief for some weeks to come. But now, comrades,” said the guide, rising, “we must rest if we would work to-morrow. Follow me.”
He led them into one of the side caves, when the whole of the people followed, as if by preconcerted arrangement. Here a much-soiled book in a leathern cover was produced. It was a portion of the Bible in the Malagasy language. A few verses were reverently read by the guide; a brief earnest prayer was offered by a very old man; a hymn was sung, and then the people dispersed to their several sections of the cave. Finally the lights were extinguished, and the place was left in silence and darkness profound.