ALAN—THE KNIGHT ERRANT
As Alan over the bulwarks, his quick of footmarks, two going one way, and two the other, with five them. “So,” said he to himself, “they were her them. Poor little Chlorie.” The were easy to follow, they to the sea and along the seashore. Steadily they on and Alan dauntlessly. There was no attempt to their traces. On they went, their them.
They had about ten hours start, and although night was falling, Alan at his self task. Darker and it grew, until at length it was to see the footmarks, so he sat to wait for the dawn.
The night was and the rain down, so Alan was to the skin, and as the rose. The rain had almost the marks, but they up here and there on the wet sand. He had no time to look at the through which he was passing—his one was Chlorie—not the Princess, but Chlorie the woman, Chlorie his love.
On, on he all day, and still the here and there. Night came, and again he was to and wait for the light. He was than ever, he violently, and for the of the sun. That night he slept at all, and he rose in the early light and tired. His light, his ached, and the one thing he think of was Chlorie.
266Suddenly all of the marks vanished. He high and low, but all to no purpose; they ended as as if the had been up into the heavens.
Two nights and two days he to and fro. He was to the bone, and was in a high fever. At last he had to give in, and under the of a tree. The of the sun him, and he to a on which plums, ate his and slept. When he he and stronger. Perhaps he had been dreaming—the must go on. But no, they came to an end at a edge, and there was no mark to that beings had passed that way. He that day for a of the fugitives, but was unsuccessful, and his way to the air bird.
The was beautiful. The rose to a of in the centre, and and through the to the side. The was purely tropical. Palms, high, to the of the sea shore; the no of any animal inhabitants; not a was broken, not a upon, to mark the passage of a body. Alan the return quickly, and soon himself at the of the bush. But the “Chlorie” had gone! There were the of where she had rested; the mark on the of her wheels; an on the ground where her had been lubricated—but all of her had vanished. Had Waz-Y-Kjesta failed him, or had Chlorie returned? He in his pockets—there was a of paper and a pencil. “I am going inland,” he wrote. “If you come back, search for me. Alan.” He it to the ground close to where the Chlorie had been anchored, and his westwards, his footsteps.
Time passed without his reckoning. When the nights came he for the day; and in the day time he the of the night. He the place where the at dusk, and for the 267first time for days, slept through the night peacefully. His had abated, but he still weak. Yet his brain was clear, and he set to work again to for the missing ones. Yard by he worked, and at last his patience was rewarded. There, on a low on the ground, he saw a piece of something that on the breeze. He and it off the twig—it was silk, and with a he it as a piece of Chlorie’s dress. Feverishly he looked him; alas, there was no other piece to act as a guide. A came to him, and he on the ground and under the bush. There, a itself his gaze—it had been by the undergrowth. So it was under this they had their escape, and it was in the girl through, that her dress was torn.
Alan his way under the bushes, and in wonder at the opened out him. A avenue—bordered on either by thick and trees, ran two miles in a line. The was soft and velvety, and a narrow ran over white at one side. The were with fruit, but a that a quantity had been recently. Twigs fruit had been off, and under foot. On Alan until he the end of the avenue, where four paths out in four different directions. He for a second—all four looked like ground. But his were by love, and only love have noticed a small of earth close to the water’s from where a had been in a transit. He looked and saw the stone, its under still damp—and that the were not too off.
Down the path he which and turned, now narrow now wide again. Suddenly the path also came to an end, and thick and low 268vegetation his way. Profiting by his past experience, he to under the bushes, but no of an anywhere. All at once there came the of voices so close that he quickly, to see him. But there was no one in sight. He intently—the voices came again—the Keemarnian which he well by this time— “—will you here,” “—spare me, I beg”—“leave you here”—“Kulmervan have mercy—mercy.”
It was all very disjointed, and the to come from every direction. Again he his loved one’s voice—distorted it is true, but in the tones, he that it was Chlorie speaking. “—get away.—help me. Waiko help—my father will reward—Waiko—” The voice off. Alan was puzzled. The voice came behind, then him—then it to come from Heaven itself. A laugh sounded—Kulmervan’s. Alan was on the near at last. Again the laugh came, away in the distance. Alan the nature had played him. He was not to the of his loved one, or her abductor, but to an echo. The might still be many miles away.
Madly he to his way through the undergrowth. It was impossible. All night long he in the little cul-de-sac, and at of conversation.
“prevent her escaping.—torture her if need be.”
“—love me Chlorie, just love me,” “—save me, Waiko!”
“—keep you with me always.”
The Kulmervan and his friend.
When the sun rose Alan one more attempt to the enclosure. Crawling on his belly, he his way the of the bushes. At last he an opening. He through it, low upon the ground. When he got through, a network of him, but it was easy to the Kulmervan had 269taken. Feeling secure in his flight, he now from attempting to his tracks. By the and branches, the of the soil, Alan was that through this part of their retreat, they had their along the path, so he ground his teeth and under his breath.
Twisting and the path opened out into a valley—a of and two mountains. The was desolate, inspiring, dreary—almost in its grandeur. For two miles he it, until again it and the of the changed. Once more it was a he was traversing, that might have been in Devonshire, with its red earth and ferns.
At the day he the echo, and it him on—on—to his love.
A came upon his ear; it was that of voices—real voices, this time—no longer an echo. Cautiously he from tree to tree. There in the centre of a sat Kulmervan. His was torn, his skin scratched—his a look of madness. At his Waiko, to his friend’s counsel. And to a tree, her her, her on the ground her, from her by her kinsman, Kulmervan—was Chlorie. Her was on her breast. She was heavily.
Alan not move—it was two against one, and he had to save himself for her. Silent as a hound, he and waited; and as he did so Chlorie her and across the of the two Keemarnians. Through the their met. Into hers came recognition, by a of shame, as she her closer still about her body. Then she a smile, and her once more upon her breast.
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