The lion was scarce thirty paces from them, and they were equally as far from the shelter.The man was armed with a stout stick--as efficacious against a hungry lion, he realized, as a toy pop-gun charged with a tethered cork.
Numa, ravenous with hunger, had long since learned the futility of roaring and moaning as he searched for prey, but now that it was as surely his as though already he had felt the soft flesh beneath his still mighty paw, he opened his huge jaws, and gave vent to his long-pent rage in a series of deafening roars that made the air tremble.
"Run, Jane!" cried Clayton."Quick! Run for the shelter!"But her paralyzed muscles refused to respond, and she stood mute and rigid, staring with ghastly countenance at the living death creeping toward them.
Thuran, at the sound of that awful roar, had come to the opening of the shelter, and as he saw the tableau below him he hopped up and down, shrieking to them in Russian.
"Run! Run!" he cried."Run, or I shall be left all alone in this horrible place," and then he broke down and commenced to weep.
For a moment this new voice distracted the attention of the lion, who halted to cast an inquiring glance in the direction of the tree.Clayton could endure the strain no longer.
Turning his back upon the beast, he buried his head in his arms and waited.
The girl looked at him in horror.Why did he not do something? If he must die, why not die like a man--bravely;beating at that terrible face with his puny stick, no matter how futile it might be.Would Tarzan of the Apes have done thus?
Would he not at least have gone down to his death fighting heroically to the last?
Now the lion was crouching for the spring that would end their young lives beneath cruel, rending, yellow fangs.
Jane Porter sank to her knees in prayer, closing her eyes to shut out the last hideous instant.Thuran, weak from fever, fainted.
Seconds dragged into minutes, long minutes into an eternity, and yet the beast did not spring.Clayton was almost unconscious from the prolonged agony of fright--his knees trembled--a moment more and he would collapse.
Jane Porter could endure it no longer.She opened her eyes.
Could she be dreaming?
"William," she whispered; "look!"
Clayton mastered himself sufficiently to raise his head and turn toward the lion.An ejaculation of surprise burst from his lips.At their very feet the beast lay crumpled in death.
A heavy war spear protruded from the tawny hide.It had entered the great back above the right shoulder, and, passing entirely through the body, had pierced the savage heart.
Jane Porter had risen to her feet; as Clayton turned back to her she staggered in weakness.He put out his arms to save her from falling, and then drew her close to him--pressing her head against his shoulder, he stooped to kiss her in thanksgiving.
Gently the girl pushed him away.
"Please do not do that, William," she said."I have lived a thousand years in the past brief moments.I have learned in the face of death how to live.I do not wish to hurt you more than is necessary; but I can no longer bear to live out the impossible position I have attempted because of a false sense of loyalty to an impulsive promise I made you.
"The last few seconds of my life have taught me that it would be hideous to attempt further to deceive myself and you, or to entertain for an instant longer the possibility of ever becoming your wife, should we regain civilization.""Why, Jane," he cried, "what do you mean? What has our providential rescue to do with altering your feelings toward me?
You are but unstrung--tomorrow you will be yourself again.""I am more nearly myself this minute than I have been for over a year," she replied."The thing that has just happened has again forced to my memory the fact that the bravest man that ever lived honored me with his love.Until it was too late I did not realize that I returned it, and so I sent him away.
He is dead now, and I shall never marry.I certainly could not wed another less brave than he without harboring constantly a feeling of contempt for the relative cowardice of my husband.
Do you understand me?"
"Yes," he answered, with bowed head, his face mantling with the flush of shame.
And it was the next day that the great calamity befell.