“You were afraid,” he sneered, “afraid of the trailing tendrils of this plant devil.”
“Have it that way if you wish,” I answered indifferently. “However, if in spite of my warning, you still persist in wishing to see this strange freak of nature, I will do my best to guide you to it; but, I repeat, the way is long and difficult, and you had better leave this cursed thing alone.”
“We will start in the morning,” he asserted decisively, as he arose to leave.
I said nothing more, but, alone in my room, I laughed like a devil at the success of my ruse.
Next morning the weather was squally and tempestuous, and I was afraid that the fire of Silvela’s enthusiasm would be burning low. But I also knew that opposition would be fuel to the flame.
“I fear we shall have to postpone our journey,” I remarked, when he appeared.
If Silvela had any doubts as to the advisability of our starting out that morning, they vanished at once.
“Nonsense!” he rasped. “It is fine weather for our purpose.”
“All right, my friend,” I replied. “Remember, though, that I advised against going.”