“A miracle! By Jove! A miracle! Wylde! Oh Wylde!”
I sprang up and tremblingly caught his arm.
“Walla!” I gasped. “Walla? Does she live?”
“Look! I swear to you that a moment ago Walla was dead; but now look!”
Walla had risen to her feet, but over the face had come a wondrous change.
Walla!
But was it Walla?
Upon this point I prefer not to commit myself.
All I know is that where Walla’s skin was dark, the face of the woman before me became as light as any blonde I ever saw. Where Walla’s hair was jet black, the hair upon the head at which I now looked, I saw change to a light brown. As for the face—but enough! I shall say it boldly. I saw every feature of that face transformed. It was no longer Walla Benjow upon whom we gazed. It was the woman I had seen on Mars!
CHAPTER XXX.
CONCLUSION.
“A miracle!” roared the Doctor; yet again. “Wylde, I’m as mad as the rest of you! By Jove! Did you see it? I swear to you man, she was dead.”
But Walla—shall I call her Walla still?—paid not the slightest attention to us.
“Maurice! Maurice!” she shouted, running toward the edge of the precipice with outstretched hands, calling out when she reached it, in that unknown tongue.
I looked across the rift at Maurice.
Fearful was the change which had come over his face.
“Don’t look at me, George Wylde!” he shouted. “Don’t look at me, man! I did not do it! I swear to God I had no hand in Walla’s death!”
Still, in spite of his prohibition, I might have looked at him—might even have attempted to argue the point when he reached my side, for already he had started, walking as
