“If you sleep, you die.”
“I shall rejoice!”
“You must not, brother. I will help you. I will carry you.”
He made the effort as he spoke—for a moment raised up the failing form of his brother—staggered forward, and sank himself beneath the burden.
“Ha! ha!” he laughed hoarsely; “that we should fail with the Golden Copal in sight! But if we rest, we shall recover. Let us rest. Let us kindle here a fire, my brother, for my limbs feel cold also.”
“It is death, Alphonse.”
“Death! Pshaw! We cannot fail now; now that we are nearly at the summit. I tell you, brother, we are almost at the portals of that wondrous city. Once I doubted there were such city, but I have seen glimpses of towers, and methought but now I beheld the window in a turret from which a fair woman was looking forth. See now! Look you to the right—there where you see the mountain sink as it were, then suddenly rise again, the slopes leading gently up to a tower and a wall. The evening sunlight rests upon it. You see it is of a dusky white, and the window shows clearly through the stone, and some one moves within it. Dost thou see, my brother?”
“I see nothing but the sky and ocean. It is the waters that roll about us.”
“It is the winds that you hear, as they sweep down from yonder mountains. But where I point your eyes is certainly a tower, a great castle—no doubt one that commands the ascent to the mountains.”
“Brother, this is so sweet!”