He tried to piece out the details of his adventure prior to
the time he lost consciousness to see if they would explain his
present whereabouts--he wondered if he were among friends
or foes.
At length he recollected the whole hideous scene at the
stake, and finally recalled the strange white figure in whose
arms he had sunk into oblivion.
D'Arnot wondered what fate lay in store for him now. He
could neither see nor hear any signs of life about him.
The incessant hum of the jungle--the rustling of millions
of leaves--the buzz of insects--the voices of the birds and
monkeys seemed blended into a strangely soothing purr, as
though he lay apart, far from the myriad life whose sounds
came to him only as a blurred echo.
At length he fell into a quiet slumber, nor did he awake
again until afternoon.
Once more he experienced the strange sense of utter
bewilderment that had marked his earlier awakening, but soon he
recalled the recent past, and looking through the opening at
his feet he saw the figure of a man squatting on his haunches.
The broad, muscular back was turned toward him, but,
tanned though it was, D'Arnot saw that it was the back of a
white man, and he thanked God.
The Frenchman called faintly. The man turned, and rising,
came toward the shelter. His face was very handsome--the
handsomest, thought D'Arnot, that he had ever seen.
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