“What, Mr. Quatermain,” asked Sammy between his tears, “is the use of dressing viands that our systems will never have time to thoroughly assimilate?”

The first night passed somehow, and so did the next day and the next night which heralded our last morning.  I got up quite early and watched the sunrise.  Never, I think, had I realised before what a beautiful thing the sunrise is, at least not to the extent I did now when I was saying good-bye to it for ever.  Unless indeed there should prove to be still lovelier sunrises beyond the dark of death!  Then I went into our hut, and as Stephen, who had the nerves of a rhinoceros, was still sleeping like a tortoise in winter, I said my prayers earnestly enough, mourned over my sins which proved to be so many that at last I gave up the job in despair, and then tried to occupy myself by reading the Old Testament, a book to which I have always been extremely attached.

As a passage that I lit on described how the prophet Samuel for whom I could not help reading “Imbozwi,” hewed Agag in pieces after Bausi—­I mean Saul—­had relented and spared his life, I cannot say that it consoled me very much.  Doubtless, I reflected, these people believe that I, like Agag, had “made women childless” by my sword, so there remained nothing save to follow the example of that unhappy king and walk “delicately” to doom.

Then, as Stephen was still sleeping—­how could he do it, I wondered —­I set to work to make up the accounts of the expedition to date.  It had already cost £1,423.  Just fancy expending £1,423 in order to be tied to a post and shot to death with arrows.  And all to get a rare orchid!  Oh!  I reflected to myself, if by some marvel I should escape, or if I should live again in any land where these particular flowers flourish, I would never even look at them.  And as a matter of fact I never have.

At length Stephen did wake up and, as criminals are reported to do in the papers before execution, made an excellent breakfast.

“What’s the good of worrying?” he said presently.  “I shouldn’t if it weren’t for my poor old father.  It must have come to this one day, and the sooner it is over the sooner to sleep, as the song says.  When one comes to think of it there are enormous advantages in sleep, for that’s the only time one is quite happy.  Still, I should have liked to see that Cypripedium first.”

“Oh! drat the Cypripedium!” I exclaimed, and blundered from the hut to tell Sammy that if he didn’t stop his groaning I would punch his head.

“Jumps!  Regular jumps!  Who’d have thought it of Quatermain?” I heard Stephen mutter in the intervals of lighting his pipe.

The morning went “like lightning that is greased,” as Sammy remarked.  Three o’clock came and Mavovo and his following sacrificed a kid to the spirits of their ancestors, which, as Sammy remarked again, was “a horrible, heathen ceremony much calculated to prejudice our cause with Powers Above.”