effort, friends! Ha! What was that? Now you will believe that I told the truth!”
It was a human voice—a cry!
Faintly it fell upon our ears, but it was real.
“Coming!” shouted Mirrikh.
I remember thinking it a pity none of us understood Thibetan that we might convey some hope to this perishing soul, but the adept with all his wonderful powers assured us that he knew no more of the tongue than we did ourselves.
Of course I objected no longer, but spoke words of cheer to Maurice, who was certainly the weakest physically of the three.
I was lost in wonder at the whole strange business. How had Mirrikh known? What was the secret of this power thus to project his vision indefinitely? I thought of clairvoyance, second sight and similar things, which until then, I had considered only so many different names for humbug and chicanery. Never before had I realized how little I understood the latent powers within every man as on that memorable night.
Again the cry and again we shouted back encouraging words. It began to look as though we were going to accomplish something after all.
“Keep well up to the left!” said the adept. “The snow is gathering on the edge of the precipice—one false step and we are lost.”
“It can’t be a great way now,” said Maurice, “and I am thankful for it. Fact is, George, I’m pretty nearly used up.”
Twenty paces brought us to the white boulder. We came upon it suddenly; almost before we knew it there it was rising before us amid the whirl of snow.
“Is there any one here?” shouted Mirrikh, flashing the lantern about.
Then for the first time I heard that voice which was to have such power to move me later on.
“Help! Oh help us! We are perishing!”
Though spoken with a very marked accent, the words were in our own language. It is hard to express the effect this produced on me, and I am sure with Maurice it was just the same.
“George! It is a woman! She is speaking English!” he shouted, as we pressed forward after the adept, who had already reached the rock.
