Mirrikh made me see Lh’asa, so now with Maurice was time without existence. His dreams were of his mother; he was a boy again; his spirit, untrammeled, was living in the so-called past. And what is the past to man but a mental condition—a state? Free to act, how perfectly the spirit is able to resuscitate it. Maurice certainly saw his mother—in his dream.
“Come, come, old fellow! Wake up! Wake up,” I repeated. “This is no time for dreaming. We have work to do. Wake up, Maurice. We are to be saved!”
He leaped to his feet and began staggering about the rock. I caught him by the shoulder and held him fast, fearful lest he should totter over into the abyss.
“Are you awake? Do you know that you are walking?” I demanded.
The instant I called his attention to the fact he sank down and declared he could not walk a step.
“What is the matter, George? I feel so queer?”
“Worse than before?”
“Altogether different. I feel elated. Somehow I seem to have a profound assurance that I shall soon be let out of my awful fix.”
“God grant it; but look, Maurice. Look there! What do you see?”
“Merciful heaven! It is the bridge!”
“It is nothing else!” I cried triumphantly; “and look at this?”
I extended the letter.
“What is it, George?”
“Our safe conduct beyond the frontiers of Thibet.”
Maurice gave a quick gasp.
“Mirrikh has been here,” he breathed. “I knew it! He promised me and I knew he would keep his word. The laying of the bridge across the rift was his work.”
“You are right! Mirrikh has been here. Maurice, that man is deserving of all your enthusiasm. He is indeed a most wonderful individual.”
“Wonderful! He’s a right good fellow, but there is nothing very extraordinary about him. There are thousands of just such men on Mars. Oh George! Why, why didn’t you wake me? I shall never forgive myself for not having seen him. I counted on him to tell me what the deuce I am to do about Merzilla, and now it is too late!”
