stand me? Perhaps not, but the calmness or my sphere seemed to sooth him and gradually he grew quiet, even smiled.
Now suddenly he pulled himself away and pointed to his face, indicating each feature separately. I felt that he wanted me to fully appreciated the change which had come upon him, but there was no need to call my attention to it, for I appreciated it already. Certainly it was not Maurice’s face upon which I gazed; just as surely was it the face of a woman. I was puzzled beyond all telling, but I strove to retain my calmness, feeling that thus my power to help him must be greater.
Suddenly he began rubbing his face with both hands in the most violent fashion and I saw his whole frame tremble. Once he groaned; again a sharp cry of pain escaped him, then the hands fell and the strange expression had gone.
Now it was a man’s face—it was the face of Maurice De Veber, my friend!
What was this? What was it? What wondrous change had come over Maurice since we parted in the lamasery of Psam-dagong?
“George!”
He called my name—something he had not done since he dropped the pipe.
“Oh Maurice! My poor friend!”
“Pity me, George. I’m in an awful fix!”
“Pity you! Maurice I am ready to lay down my life for you. But while you are able to talk intelligently, let me ask you if you know that the lamas have deserted us—that all hope of escape from this cave has been cut off?”
“Yes, yes, I know all.”
“Then you could understand me even though I was not able to understand you.”
“I did not hear you, George, but she did—she told me.”
“Maurice, you will drive me mad. In God’s name who is this mysterious She to whom you keep alluding?”
He looked about warily.
“Where is the Doctor?” he whispered. “He must not know.”
“He has gone to look into our situation.”
“He is out of hearing?”
“Oh yes. What is it Maurice? Explain your condition. I doubt if you can realize how desperate it appears to us.”
