He had not once suspected Jim of perfidy. What did it mean? he asked himself. The letter was in Livingston’s handwriting! His head swam; he could not think. Over and over again he turned the problem and then, wishing that something more definite had been given him, retired, but not to sleep.

Try as he would to throw it off, the most minute act of Jim since entering his service persisted in coming before his inner vision. The night when he was attacked by the leopard and Jim’s tardiness in offering help, returned with great significance. What could he do but conclude that he was the victim of a conspiracy.

“There is no doubt about it,” was his last thought as he dropped into a light doze. How long he slept he could not tell, but he woke with a wild, shrill cry in his ears: “Reuel, Reuel, save me!”

Three times it was repeated, clear, distinct, and close beside his ear, a pause between the repetitions.

He roused his sleeping friend. “Charlie, Charlie! Wake up and listen!”

Charlie, still half asleep, looked with blinking eyes at the candle with dazzled sight.

“Charlie, for the love of God wake up!”

At this, so full of mortal fear were his words, Adonis shook off his drowsiness and sat up in bed, wide awake and staring at him in wonder.

“What the deuce!” he began, and then stopped, gazing in surprise at the white face and trembling hands of his friend.

“Charlie,” he cried, “some terrible event has befallen Dianthe, or like a sword hangs over our heads. Listen, listen!”

Charlie did listen but heard nothing but the lion’s boom which now broke the stillness.

“I hear nothing, Reuel.”

“O Charlie, are you sure?”

“Nothing but the lion. But that’ll be enough if he should take it into his mind to come into camp for his supper.”

“I suppose you are right, for you can hear nothing, and I can hear nothing now. But, oh Charlie! It was so terrible, and I heard it so plainly; though I daresay it was only my—Oh God! There it is again! Listen! Listen!”

This time Charlie heard—heard clearly and unmistakably, and hearing, felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.

Shrill and clear above the lion’s call rose a prolonged wail, or rather shriek, as of a human voice rising to heaven in passionate appeal for mercy, and dying away in sobbing and shuddering despair. Then came the words:

“Charlie, brother, save me!”

Adonis sprang to his feet, threw back the curtain of the tent and looked out. All was calm and silent, not even a cloud flecked the sky where the moon’s light cast a steady radiance.

Long he looked and listened; but nothing could be seen or heard. But the cry still rang in his ears and clamored at his heart; while his mind said it was the effect of imagination.