te of relief in his voice. He
said nothing more and Adams volunteered no explanation, for the affair was
one entirely between Meeus, himself, and God.

A few minutes later, Berselius, who seemed deep in thought, raised his
head again.

"We must get away from here. I am nearly strong enough to go now. It will
be a rough journey in these rains, but it will be a much shorter road than
the road we came by."

"How so?"

"We came from Yandjali right through the forest before striking south to
here; we will now make straight for the river, along the rubber road. I
think the post on the river which we will reach is called M'Bina, it is a
hundred miles above Yandjali; we can get a boat from there to
Leopoldsville. I have been thinking it all out this morning."

"How about a guide?"

"These soldiers here know the rubber track, for they often escort the
loads."

"Good," said Adams. "I will have some sort of litter rigged up and we will
carry you. I am not going to let you walk in your present condition."

Berselius bowed his head.

"I am very sensible," said he, "of the care and attention you have
bestowed on me during the past weeks. I owe you a considerable debt, which
I will endeavour to repay, at all events, by following your directions
implicitly. Let the litter be made, and if you will send me in the
corporal of those men, I will talk to him in his own language and explain
what is to be done."

"Good," said Adams, and he went out and found the corporal and sent him in
to Berselius.

"Good!" The word was not capacious enough to express what he felt.
Freedom, Light, Humanity, the sight of a civilized face, for these he
ached with a great longing, and they were all there at the end of the
rubber road, only waiting to be met with.

He went to the fort wall and shook his fist at the forest.

"Another ten days," said Adams.

The forest, whose spirit counted time by tens of thousands of years, waved
its branches to the wind.

A spit of rain from a passing cloud hit Adams's cheek, and in the "hush"
of the trees there seemed a murmur of derision and the whisper of a
threat.

"It is not well to shake your fist at the gods--in the open."

Adams went back to the house to begin preparations, and for the next week
he was busy. From some spare canvas and bamboos in the go-down he made a
litter strong enough to carry Berselius--he had to do nearly all the work
himself, for the soldiers were utterly useless as workmen.