man ever by my side? But since the old wise man, who knew of my trouble,
has died, I have heard the voice every night. I shut myself up--for
many days--in the dark. I can hear the sorrowful murmurs of women, the
whisper of the wind, of the running waters; the clash of weapons in the
hands of faithful men, their footsteps--and his voice! . . . Near . . .
So! In my ear! I felt him near . . . His breath passed over my neck. I
leaped out without a cry. All about me men slept quietly. I ran to the
sea. He ran by my side without footsteps, whispering, whispering old
words--whispering into my ear in his old voice. I ran into the sea; I
swam off to you, with my kriss between my teeth. I, armed, I fled before
a breath--to you. Take me away to your land. The wise old man has died,
and with him is gone the power of his words and charms. And I can tell
no one. No one. There is no one here faithful enough and wise enough
to know. It is only near you, unbelievers, that my trouble fades like a
mist under the eye of day."

He turned to me.

"With you I go!" he cried in a contained voice. "With you, who know so
many of us. I want to leave this land--my people . . . and him--there!"

He pointed a shaking finger at random over his shoulder. It was hard for
us to bear the intensity of that undisclosed distress. Hollis stared at
him hard. I asked gently--

"Where is the danger?"

"Everywhere outside this place," he answered, mournfully. "In every
place where I am. He waits for me on the paths, under the trees, in the
place where I sleep--everywhere but here."