hout avail, for never did I know a more
determined or more fearless man than Lord Ragnall. He had made up
his mind and there was an end of the matter. Afterwards I talked with
Savage, pointing out to him all the perils involved in the attempt, but
likewise without avail. He was more depressed than usual, apparently on
the ground that "having seen the ghost of her ladyship" he was sure he
had not long to live. Still, he declared that where his master went he
would go, as he preferred to die with him rather than alone.

So I was obliged to give in and with a melancholy heart to do what I
could to help in the simple preparations for this crazy undertaking,
realizing all the while that the only real help must come from above,
since in such a case man was powerless. I should add that after
consultation, Ragnall gave up the idea of adopting a Kendah disguise
which was certain to be discovered, also of starting at night when the
town was guarded.

That very afternoon they went, going out of the town quite openly on the
pretext of shooting partridges and small buck on the lower slopes of
the mountain, where both were numerous, as Harut had informed us we were
quite at liberty to do. The farewell was somewhat sad, especially
with Savage, who gave me a letter he had written for his old mother in
England, requesting me to post it if ever again I came to a civilized
land.

I did my best to put a better spirit in him but without avail. He only
wrung my hand warmly, said that it was a pleasure to have known such a
"real gentleman" as myself, and expressed a hope that I might get out of
this hell and live to a green old age amongst Christians. Then he wiped
away a tear with the cuff of his coat, touched his hat in the orthodox
fashion and departed. Their outfit, I should add, was very simple: some
food in bags, a flask of spirits, two double-barrelled guns that would
shoot either shot or ball, a bull's-eye lantern, matches and their
pistols.

Hans walked with them a little way and, leaving them outside the town,
returned.

"Why do you look so gloomy, Hans?" I asked.

"Because, Baas," he answered, twiddling his hat, "I had grown to be fond
of the white man, Bena, who was always very kind to me and did not treat
me like dirt as low-born whites are apt to do. Also he cooked well, and
now I shall have to do that work which I do not like."

"What do you mean, Hans? The man isn't dead, is he?"

"No, Baas, but soon he will be, for