rought something with you that is unlucky, and that
unless you throw it away, we shall all die."

"I know what he means," replied Adams; "I have brought a relic from that
village by the Silent Pools. I shall not throw it away. You can tell him
so."

Berselius spoke to the man who still stood sullenly waiting, and who was
opening his mouth to continue his complaints, when Adams seized him by the
shoulders, turned him round, and with a kick, sent him back to his
companions.

"You should not have done that," said Berselius; "these people are very
difficult to deal with."

"Difficult!" said Adams. He stared at the soldiers who were grouped
together, slapped the Mauser pistol at his side, and then pointed to the
tent.

The men ceased muttering, and came as beaten dogs come at the call of
their master, seized the tent and put it up.

But Berselius still shook his head. He knew these people, their treachery,
and their unutterable heartlessness.

"How far are we from the river now?" asked Adams, that night, as they sat
by the fire, for which the corporal by some miracle of savagery had found
sufficient dry fuel in the reeking woods around them.

"Another two days' march," replied Berselius, "I trust that we shall reach
it."

"Oh, we'll get there," said Adams, "and shall I tell you why? Well, we'll
get there just because of that relic I am carrying. God has given me it to
take to Europe. To take to Europe and show to men that they may see the
devilment of this place, and the work of Satan that is being carried out
here."

Berselius bowed his head.

"Perhaps you are right," said he, at last, slowly and thoughtfully.

Adams said no more. The great change in his companion stood as a barrier
between him and the loathing he would have felt if Berselius had been
still himself.

The great man had fallen, and was now very low. That vision of him in his
madness by the Silent Pools had placed him forever on a plane above
others. God had dealt with this man very visibly, and the hand of God was
still upon him.

Next day they resumed their journey. The soldiers were cheerful and seemed
to have forgotten all about their grievance, but Berselius felt more
uneasy than ever. He knew these people, and that nothing could move them
to mirth and joy that was not allied to devilment, or treachery, or
death.

But he said nothing, for speech was useless.

Next morning when they woke they found the soldiers gone; they had taken
t