“They both come!” says she; and turns her eyes northward.
What! Is it another optical delusion, or is this yet one more cloud in the north, which, as it approaches, also takes the semblance of a revolving figure? Hot as the weather is, she shivers sensibly, and, closing her parasol, mutters, her lips as white as driven snow—
“They all come!”
Story 14.
Chapter Thirteen.
The Watcher on the Cairn.
Twenty-four hours of agonising suspense, and then the revolving figures reach the base of the mountain, and commence simultaneously to roll up the side.
The female figure on the top gives a despairing glance around her, and drops senseless on the cairn.
At length, as the sun is setting in the only unoccupied horizon, she starts, rigid and stiff, and listens.
On either side of her approaches a dull grinding noise, mingled with heavy snorting, and the low muttering of voices.