But he was spared the
ordeal.
"There is no need," said the familiar voice. "You have seen enough. I
don't want to haunt you, even though I am dead. What put it into your
head to come in search of me? You must have known I should be long past
any help from you."
"I--wanted to know," Herne said. He was feeling curiously helpless, as
if, in truth, he were talking with a mummy. All the questions he desired
to put remained unuttered. He was confronted with the impossible, and he
was powerless to deal with it.
"What did you want to know? How I died? And when? It was a thousand
years ago, when those damned Wandis swallowed up the Zambas. They took
me first--by treachery. Then they wiped out the entire tribe. The poor
devils were lost without me. I always knew they would be--but they made
a gallant fight for it." A thrill of feeling crept into the monotonous
voice, a tinge of the old abounding pride, but it was gone on the
instant, as if it had not been. "They slaughtered them all in the end,"
came in level, dispassionate tones, "and, last of all, they killed me.
It was a slow process, but very complete. I needn't harrow your
feelings.
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