the old man, Leo and I, rolled in a heap upon the bank and lay there gasping.
Presently I looked up. The woman stood over us, water streaming from her garments, staring like one in a dream at Leo's face, smothered as it was with blood running from a deep cut in his head. Even then I noticed how stately and beautiful she was. Now she seemed to awake and, glancing at the robes that clung to her splendid shape, said something to her companion, then turned and ran towards the cliff.
As we lay before him, utterly exhausted, the old man, who had risen, contemplated us solemnly with his dim eyes. He spoke, but we did not understand. Again he tried another language and without success. A third time and our ears were opened, for the tongue he used was Greek; yes, there in Central Asia he addressed us in Greek, not very pure, it is true, but still Greek.
Are you wizards,
he said, that you have lived to reach this land?
Nay,
I answered in the same tongue, though in broken words—since of Greek I had thought little for many a year—for then we should have come otherwise,
and I pointed to our hurts and the precipice behind us.
They know the ancient speech; it is as we were told from the Mountain,
he muttered to himself. Then he asked—
Strangers, what seek you?
Now I grew cunning and did not answer, fearing lest, should he learn the truth, he would thrust us back into the river. But Leo had no such caution, or rather all reason had left him; he was light-headed.
We seek,
he stuttered out—his Greek, which had always been feeble, now was simply barbarous and mixed with various Thibetan dialects—we seek the land of the Fire Mountain that is crowned with the Sign of Life.
The man stared at us. So you know,
he said, then broke off and added, and whom do you seek?
