For the most part they talked in their own native tongue, but sometimes they used the language of the country of their adoption.
The blindman’s hearing was doubly acute for his affliction. And he crouched straining for any sound to warn them of lurking danger. But the hours passed, and only the droning roar of the distant Falls broke the soundlessness of the night.
Crysa could contain her fears no longer. A sigh escaped her and she stirred restlessly.
“He will come?” she said, and her tone was full of besetting doubt.
The man’s reply was slow in coming. It almost seemed as though the straining effort of listening completely pre-occupied him.
He nodded at last.
“He will come,” he rasped. Then he added, “He is a fool whiteman.”
The woman’s quick eyes lit as they glanced round on her husband.
“He is good,” she said.
“Good?”