酷兔英语

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together. We were welcomed by the great; his wisdom and my courage are



remembered where your strength, O white men, is forgotten! We served

the Sultan of Sula. We fought the Spaniards. There were victories,



hopes, defeats, sorrow, blood, women's tears . . . What for? . . . We

fled. We collected wanderer" target="_blank" title="n.流浪者">wanderers of a warlike race and came here to fight



again. The rest you know. I am the ruler of a conquered land, a lover

of war and danger, a fighter and a plotter. But the old man has died,



and I am again the slave of the dead. He is not here now to drive away

the reproachful shade--to silence the lifeless voice! The power of his



charm has died with him. And I know fear; and I hear the whisper,

'Kill! kill! kill!' . . . Have I not killed enough? . . ."



For the first time that night a sudden convulsion of madness and rage

passed over his face. His wavering glances darted here and there



like scared birds in a thunderstorm. He jumped up, shouting--

"By the spirits that drink blood: by the spirits that cry in the



night: by all the spirits of fury, misfortune, and death, I

swear--some day I will strike into every heart I meet--I . . ."



He looked so dangerous that we all three leaped to our feet, and

Hollis, with the back of his hand, sent the kriss flying off the



table. I believe we shouted together. It was a short scare, and the

next moment he was again composed in his chair, with three white men



standing over him in rather foolish attitudes. We felt a little

ashamed of ourselves. Jackson picked up the kriss, and, after an



inquiring glance at me, gave it to him. He received it with a stately

inclination of the head and stuck it in the twist of his sarong, with



punctilious care to give his weapon a pacific position. Then he looked

up at us with an austere smile. We were abashed and reproved. Hollis



sat sideways on the table and, holding his chin in his hand,

scrutinized him in pensive silence. I said--



"You must abide with your people. They need you. And there is

forgetfulness in life. Even the dead cease to speak in time."



"Am I a woman, to forget long years before an eyelid has had the time

to beat twice?" he exclaimed, with bitter resentment. He startled me.



It was amazing. To him his life--that cruel mirage of love and

peace--seemed as real, as undeniable, as theirs would be to any saint,



philosopher, or fool of us all. Hollis muttered--

"You won't soothe him with your platitudes."



Karain spoke to me.

"You know us. You have lived with us. Why?--we cannot know; but you



understand our sorrows and our thoughts. You have lived with my

people, and you understand our desires and our fears. With you I will



go. To your land--to your people. To your people, who live in

unbelief; to whom day is day, and night is night--nothing more,



because you understand all things seen, and despise all else! To

your land of unbelief, where the dead do not speak, where every man is



wise, and alone--and at peace!"

"Capital description," murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile.



Karain hung his head.

"I can toil, and fight--and be faithful," he whispered, in a weary



tone, "but I cannot go back to him who waits for me on the shore. No!

Take me with you . . . Or else give me some of your strength--of your



unbelief . . . A charm! . . ."

He seemed utterly exhausted.



"Yes, take him home," said Hollis, very low, as if debating with

himself. "That would be one way. The ghosts there are in society, and



talk affably to ladies and gentlemen, but would scorn a naked human

being--like our princely friend. . . . Naked . . . Flayed! I should



say. I am sorry for him. Impossible--of course. The end of all this

shall be," he went on, looking up at us--"the end of this shall be,



that some day he will run amuck amongst his faithful subjects and send

'ad patres' ever so many of them before they make up their minds to



the disloyalty of knocking him on the head."

I nodded. I thought it more than probable that such would be the end



of Karain. It was evident that he had been hunted by his thought along

the very limit of human endurance, and very little more pressing was



needed to make him swerve over into the form of madnesspeculiar to

his race. The respite he had during the old man's life made the return



of the tormentunbearable. That much was clear.

He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had



been dozing.

"Give me your protection--or your strength!" he cried. "A charm . . .



a weapon!"

Again his chin fell on his breast. We looked at him, then looked at



one another with suspicious awe in our eyes, like men who come




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