The People of the Mist

the time,

o’cloc

awn, Leonard. You remember Johnsto

ike that, Tom! If you think you

ghost of a laugh — it w

ke a dying fire. My mind is quite clear now, but I shall die at dawn

d fellow,” an

t ab

mostly

nard; it is sold. How lo

en y

d-bye to the old place on that winter night after

es

eat

ould never return to England till it was won. Then we sailed for Africa. For seven years we have so

ona

s,

ve fulfilled my vow. I have sought till I died. You will take up the quest till you succeed or die.

Tom, I

r hand on it

ide his dying brother, and th

m tired. Do not be afraid, I

s lips when his eyes closed an

lammy brow. From time to time fierce squalls of rain fell like sheets of spray, and the water, penetrating the roof of grass, streamed to the earthen floor. Leonard crept on his hands and knees to the doorway of the hut, or rather to the low arched opening which served as a doorway, and, removing the board that se

gazed upon him earnestly. Many years of toil and privation had not robbed Thomas Outram’s f

haired and broad-shouldered; not very tall, but having massive limbs and a form which showed strength in every movement. Though he was still young, there was little of youth left about the man; clearly toil and struggle had done an evil work with him, ageing his mind and hardening it as they had hardene

ept one perhaps, if indeed I love her still. Everything is against us — I should say against me now, for I cannot count him. Our father was our first enemy; he brought us into the world, neglected us, squandered our patrimony, dishonoured our name, and shot himself. And since then what has it been but one continual fight aga

le without the tempest now raved, now lulled, and now raved again. An hour — two — passed and still he sat not moving, watching the face of the fever-stricken man that from time to time flushed and was troubled, then grew pale and st

The dying eyes studied him indeed and were intelligent, but he could feel that they read something on his fa

onard shrank beneath it. He spoke to his brother, but no answer came — only the great hollow eyes read on i

ngs, this coming and this going, these sinkings and these last recoveries are the trial flights of the animating and eternal principle — call it soul or what you wil

t his brother, or the spirit of his brother, read in his face? What learning had he gathered in that sleep of his, the last be

aid to himself. “He is dying. H

fell upon his brother’s forehead and ran down his pallid cheeks like tears. Then the strange under

” they

with the other supporting the dying head. Twice he gulped at it, then with a brusque mo

said, “you w

d in wh

found the family afresh — but you will

he muttered, “How is Jane? Have you

onard’s face softened, then on

d fellow,” he said; “probably she is de

am going fast. You know dying men see far — sometimes. I dreamed it, or I read it in your face.

bra hidden in the thick thatch awoke from its lethargy and fell with a soft thud to the floor not a foot from the face of the dying man — then erected itself and hissed aloud with flickering tongue and head swollen

th the touch of those deadly coils. It was horrible that the snake should creep across his brother’s face, it was still more horrible that his brother, yet living, should not understand the horror. It cau

So the day had died last night, with a little purpling of the sky — a little sobbing of the wind — then ashen nothingness and silence. But the silence was broken, the night had grown aliv

— by heaven it was gone! — gone, crashing down the rocks on the last hurricane blast of the tempest, and there above them lowered the sullen blue of

ot heed it, he scarcely felt it; he only clasped his brother in his arms and, for the first

a peculiar splendour of its own diversely shaped; and now the shapes of fire leaped from earth to heaven, peopling the sky with light. The dull clouds caught th

s knees he stretched out his arms toward

reast, and presently all his