CHAPTER XXVII.
MIRRIKH ONCE MORE.
It was a glorious night. The moon was at her full, the vault above us ablaze with stars innumerable. Far in the distance, through that natural archway, we could discern the twinkling lights of Lh’asa.
Midnight came and found Maurice slumbering. Not again had the transformation come upon him. If his claim was true and a female spirit from our sister planet was united with his own, then like a sensible creature she had kept in the background. Walla’s condition remained as before. The Doctor and I sat together, conversing in low tones.
“Under these circumstances I consider suicide perfectly justifiable, even admitting a hereafter,” Philpot was saying. “To-morrow will have afforded Padma ample time for any move he may intend to make, if indeed he intends any. If by this time to-morrow help has not come, the dawning of another day will not find me here, Wylde. I shall take my chances and discount the future, if I can muster up the courage to make the fatal plunge.”
“In a case like this every man must decide for himself,” I replied gloomily; “but for my part all doubts of an existence beyond the grave have vanished. Our lives were certainly not given us to throw away, and I shall stick it out to the end.”
“But think of the horrors of starvation; think”
He suddenly ceased to speak; his head fell forward on his breast, his eyes closed, his face became as white as death.
“Doctor! Doctor!” I cried, springing to my feet. I was in the act of bending over him when I heard that gentle voice in my ear, and a hand was softly brushed across my brow.
“Do not interfere with our work, George. Help is at hand. Remain perfectly passive or you will spoil it all.”
Not since the last time I heard the voice in the cave had I experienced anything which I could ascribe to a spiritual
