Suddenly Bomba’s eyes were full of tears, and he heard himself crying in a voice that shook:
“Mother! Mother!”
With both hands upraised toward the beautiful face, Bomba slid slowly to the floor and lay there, his frame shaking with unaccustomed sobs.
Softly, weirdly, tenderly, there floated to the lad, as though from a great distance, the strain of that sweet melody, the song that Bartow’s wife had sung to Bonny.
Long after the lullaby had died away Bomba remained there, motionless, crouched beneath the picture, one arm before his eyes.
CHAPTER XIX
A STARTLING INTERRUPTION
Worn out by the exciting adventures and fierce emotions of the day, Bomba fell asleep. When he awoke the chill gray of early dawn was stealing in at the window of the little room.
He was still on the floor beneath the picture. But he would not have sought the bed in any event. It represented to him something so strange that he would probably have been unable to sleep in it. The hard floor on which he now lay or the earth of the jungle or his own hammock was far more restful and sleep compelling.
At first, only half awake, Bomba had difficulty in remembering the events of the day before and why he was in the place where he found himself. He sprang to his feet, rubbed his eyes, and looked about him.
His eyes fell upon the picture of the beautiful lady, and memory returned to him.