"There will come a time when you will look back upon these rough wanderings of yours--the two of you--as a dream of Paradise, John Ames. Hourly danger; scarce able to compass the means of existence; unknown country swarming with enemies; what a fearful experience it seems! Yet--how you will look back to it, will long for it! Ah, yes, I know; for your experience was once mine." "Once yours?" "Once mine." Then, with sudden change of tone and demeanour--"And now, be advised by me, and restore Nature a little. You will find the wherewithal in that chest, for you may need all your strength." Had it been anybody else, John Ames might have thought it somewhat unhostlike of the other to leave him to do all the foraging for himself, but somehow in this case it seemed all right. He could hardly have imagined this strange being bustling about over such commonplace work as rummaging out food. So he opened the chest indicated, and found it well stored with creature comforts. He set out, upon the table which had so startled him at first, enough for his present wants, and turned to speak to his host. But the latter was no longer there. He looked in the other apartment. That, too, was empty! Weird and uncanny as this disappearance was, it disconcerted John Ames less than it would have done at first. In was in keeping with the place and its strange occupant, for now, as he gazed around, he noted that the rock in places was covered with strange hieroglyphics. He had seen Bushman drawings in the caves of the Drakensberg, executed with wonderful clearness and a considerable amount of rude skill. These, however, seemed the production of a civilised race, and that in the dim ages of a remote past, probably the race which was responsible for the ancient gold workings whereof the land showed such plentiful remains. At any other time the investigation of these hieroglyphics would have afforded him a rare interest, at present he had enough to think about. But if his host--or gaoler--chose to disappear into the earth or air at will it was no concern of his, and he had not as yet found any great encouragement to curiosity in that quarter. Meanwhile, he set to work to make a hearty breakfast--or dinner--or whatever it might be, for he had no idea of time, his watch having been smashed in his fall. Strangely enough, a feeling of complete confidence had succeeded to his agony of self-reproach and anxiety as to Nidia's safety. Stranger, too, that such should be inspired by the bare word of this marvellous being who held him, so far, in his power. Yet there it was, this conviction. It surprised him. It was unaccountable. Yet there it was. Among other creature comforts he had found in the cupboard was a bottle of whisky. He mixed himself a modest "peg." But somehow the taste brought back the terrible tragedy in Inglefield's hut, that, perforce, being the last time he had drunk any, and a sort of disgust for the spirit came over him.