I obeyed mechanically, stifling all surprise. I had made my resolve, and
admitted no thought that could shake it. When we reached the summit of
the grassy hillock, which sloped from the road that led to the seaport,
Margrave, after pausing to recover breath, lifted up his voice, in a key,
not loud, but shrill and slow and prolonged, half cry and half chant, like
the nighthawk's. Through the air--so limpid and still, bringing near far
objects, far sounds--the voice pierced its way, artfully pausing, till
wave after wave of the atmosphere bore and transmitted it on.

In a few minutes the call seemed re-echoed, so exactly, so cheerily, that
for the moment I thought that the note was the mimicry of the shy mocking
Lyre-Bird, which mimics so merrily all that it hears in its coverts, from
the whir of the locust to the howl of the wild dog.

"What king," said the mystical charmer, and as he spoke he carelessly
rested his hand on my shoulder, so that I trembled to feel that this dread
son of Nature, Godless and soulless, who had been--and, my heart
whispered, who still could be--my bane and mind-darkener, leaned upon me
for support, as the spoilt younger-born on his brother,--"what king," said
this cynical mocker, with his beautiful boyish face,--"what king in your
civilized Europe has the sway of a chief of the East? What link is so
strong between mortal and mortal, as that between lord and slave? I
transport yon poor fools from the land of their birth; they preserve here
their old habits,--obedience and awe. They would wait till they starved
in the solitude,--wait to hearken and answer my call. And I, who thus
rule them, or charm them--I use and despise them. They know that, and yet
serve me! Between you and me, my philosopher, there is but one thing
worth living for,--life for oneself."