wood, and into this the strong teeth had bitten until they were ground
to fragments, while the lips were drawn back in a fearful grin.

Upon this awful object Lobelalatutu cast a single glance, and then made
a dart at the nearest of the spears that had been flung away by the
flying guard, with which he quickly cut the thongs that bound the
victim, and those that secured the gag, removing the latter from the
sufferer's mouth. Then, raising the quivering body in his arms, he bent
down and murmured a few words in his friend's ear. There was no reply;
and, looking closer, the chief saw enough to convince him that the
unhappy Siswani's hearing was already completely destroyed.
Lobelalatutu had been reared in a school in which stoical indifference
to suffering, whether personal or in another, is esteemed a cardinal
virtue; yet even he could not wholly conceal the emotion which possessed
him as he turned to von Schalckenberg and drew the attention of the
professor to the ghastly injuries already inflicted by the terrible
ants.

"Great Spirit," said he, "you are very powerful, I know, for I have seen
you do many wonderful things. Can you give Siswani new eyes and ears,
new flesh in place of that which has disappeared? Can you extract the
poison from his body, and make him whole again, even as he was when the
dawn came into this morning's sky?"

"No," answered the professor, sorrowfully. "We can do many wonderful
things, as you say, Lobelalatutu, but we cannot create a man anew. We
can cure many diseases; we can heal many kinds of wounds; but our power
as yet stops short of repairing such frightful injuries as those. The
utmost that we can do is to ease Siswani of his pain so that he may die
in peace."

"You cannot save his life?" demanded the chief; and there was a note of
keen anguish and fierce sorrow in his accents as he asked the question.

"I do not say that," answered von Schalckenberg. "It may be possible.
But blind, deaf, dumb, as he is, what will life be worth to him, even if
I can preserve it?"

"True, O Spirit," answered Lobelalatutu. "It would be worthless to him,
nay, worse, it would be a torment to him; for memory would remain to him
to remind him constantly of what he was, as compared with what he now
is. And he could do nothing for himself; he would be dependent upon
others for every morsel of food, every drop of water that went to
sustain a worthless and miserable life. There is but one act of