CHAPTER XXIII.
DESERTED.
“Maurice! Oh Maurice! Speak to me, Maurice! For God’s sake tell me this is real!”
He pushed Walla aside with a look of loathing, and raising himself to a sitting position spoke, for we had already torn off the bagging in which his body was swathed.
“George!”
“Oh Maurice!”
I am not ashamed to own it. I was crying like a child. I bent forward and would have flung my arms about him, when to my dismay he thrust me away too.
“No, no! Don’t do that!” he cried. “You musn’t do it! Where is she? I can’t see her. Where is she, George?”
I felt a shiver pass over me. Was he mad?
“Do you mean Walla? She is here, Maurice.”
The girl stood facing him; her lips tightly set, her face as livid as the face of a corpse.
“No, no! I don’t mean Walla at all. You know very well who I mean, George Wylde. You saw her in Mars, Mirrikh told me so. Where is she, I say?”
“I do not understand you,” I replied. “Try and pull yourself together, old fellow. Your mind is wandering. Doctor, for God’s sake do something. He is mad! Unless there is help we shall lose him again.”
“What can I do?” groaned the Doctor.
“I will call Padma!”
“To the mischief with Padma! We have had enough of him. Maurice, my dear boy, your mind is wandering a bit, and no wonder. You have had a fearful experience. Try”
“Stop! Let me think! Do not speak to me until I speak to you.”
He buried his face in his hands and for several moments remained silent. I looked around to see if Walla had grown calmer. To my surprise I saw her gliding off into the darkness. Most sincerely did I pity the girl, but what
