look of cunning entered his blood-shot eyes; and his flexible
mask of white was creased by a smile. He cried out in a new voice:

"If she is the Lady of the Moon our spears will not hurt her!"

He bounded into the air, stamped his feet, shook his headdress, and
crouched in an attitude of war.

"But if she is flesh and blood our spears will tell us so!"

All leaped to their feet. Their brandished spears made nimbuses over
their heads; and this time their response was like the baying of
hounds. Then, one by one, stepping lightly, they slipped through the
curtain of vines.

CHAPTER LXII

Trees, trees, trees. They were colossal, draped in moss and lichen,
ferns growing from the crooks of their limbs, above the impenetrable
thickets of broad-leaved plants from which came the tinkle of rills.
Here and there had fallen across the narrow corridor a tree trunk
riddled by ants; as Lilla stepped over it blue scorpions scuttled away.

Hour after hour there floated before her the fezzes and khaki-covered
backs of the two leading askaris, trim, narrow, jaunty backs flanking
the leprous shoulders of the albino. Now and again Hamoud, a robed
figment always beside her, addressed her in an unintelligible language.

"Dying. Dying. Dying."

Too late, perhaps, even for that last embrace of glances, that moment
of pardon and love which was all that she had asked. Closed eyes,
sealed lips, a similacrum to mock her will, left behind by the spirit
that had gone where she and the safari could not follow.

"All the same, I shall not be far behind you! My spirit, when it has
shaken off this flesh, will travel faster than yours, on the wings of a
supreme necessity. I shall find you!"

She stopped short, bewildered by a new hallucination--a flash of
silvery light across her face. She saw one of the leading askaris
kneel down and stretch himself upon his face, as if trying to press
against the ground a thin shaft that seemed to be lying crosswise under
his chest. Then she heard an explosion, and perceived a film of smoke
full of horizontal gleams--the blades of flying spears.

She had a fleeting impression of Hamoud, his arm outstretched, his hand
spitting fire. Beyond him the albino vanished in mid-air. The second
askari, his rifle lowered, was staring in vague surmise at his breast,
from which protruded a piece of polished wood. At that moment she
found herself surrounded by khaki-clad forms all moving with catlik