When Jane Clayton regained consciousness she saw Anderssenstanding over her, holding the baby in his arms. As her eyesrested upon them an expression of misery and horroroverspread her countenance.

"What is the matter?" he asked. "You ban sick?"

"Where is my baby?" she cried, ignoring his questions.

Anderssen held out the chubby infant, but she shook her head.

"It is not mine," she said. "You knew that it was not mine. You are a devil like the Russian."

Anderssen's blue eyes stretched in surprise.

"Not yours!" he exclaimed. "You tole me the kid aboardthe Kincaid ban your kid."

"Not this one," replied Jane dully. "The other. Where is the other?There must have been two. I did not know about this one."

"There vasn't no other kid. Ay tank this ban yours. Ay am very sorry."

Anderssen fidgeted about, standing first on one foot and then uponthe other. It was perfectly evident to Jane that he was honest inhis protestations of ignorance of the true identity of the child.

Presently the baby commenced to crow, and bounce up anddown in the Swede's arms, at the same time leaning forwardwith little hands out-reaching toward the young woman.

She could not withstand the appeal, and with a low cryshe sprang to her feet and gathered the baby to her breast.

For a few minutes she wept silently, her face buried in thebaby's soiled little dress. The first shock of disappointmentthat the tiny thing had not been her beloved Jack was givingway to a great hope that after all some miracle had occurredto snatch her baby from Rokoff's hands at the last instantbefore the Kincaid sailed from England.

Then, too, there was the mute appeal of this wee waif aloneand unloved in the midst of the horrors of the savage jungle. It was this thought more than any other that had sent hermother's heart out to the innocent babe, while still shesuffered from disappointment that she had been deceived inits identity.

"Have you no idea whose child this is?" she asked Anderssen.

The man shook his head.

"Not now," he said. "If he ain't ban your kid, Ay don' know whosekid he do ban. Rokoff said it was yours. Ay tank he tank so, too.

"What do we do with it now? Ay can't go back to the Kincaid. Rokoff would have me shot; but you can go back. Ay take you to the sea,and then some of these black men they take you to the ship--eh?"

"No! no!" cried Jane. "Not for the world. I would rather diethan fall into the hands of that man again. No, let us go onand take this poor little creature with us. If God is willingwe shall be saved in one way or another."

So they again took up their flight through the wilderness,taking with them a half-dozen of the Mosulas to carryprovisions and the tents that Anderssen had smuggled aboardthe small boat in preparation for the attempted escape.

The days and nights of torture that the young woman sufferedwere so merged into one long, unbroken nightmare ofhideousness that she soon lost all track of time. Whether theyhad been wandering for days or years she could not tell. The one bright spot in that eternity of fear and suffering was thelittle child whose tiny hands had long since fastened theirsoftly groping fingers firmly about her heart.

In a way the little thing took the place and filled the achingvoid that the theft of her own baby had left. It could never bethe same, of course, but yet, day by day, she found hermother-love, enveloping the waif more closely until shesometimes sat with closed eyes lost in the sweet imaginingthat the little bundle of humanity at her breast was truly her own.

For some time their progress inland was extremely slow. Word came to them from time to time through natives passingfrom the coast on hunting excursions that Rokoff had notyet guessed the direction of their flight. This, and the desireto make the journey as light as possible for the gently bredwoman, kept Anderssen to a slow advance of short and easymarches with many rests.

The Swede insisted upon carrying the child while theytravelled, and in countless other ways did what he could tohelp Jane Clayton conserve her strength. He had been terriblychagrined on discovering the mistake he had made in theidentity of the baby, but once the young woman becameconvinced that his motives were truly chivalrous she would notpermit him longer to upbraid himself for the error that hecould not by any means have avoided.

At the close of each day's march Anderssen saw to theerection of a comfortable shelter for Jane and the child. Her tent was always pitched in the most favourable location. The thorn boma round it was the strongest and mostimpregnable that the Mosula could construct.

Her food was the best that their limited stores and the rifleof the Swede could provide, but the thing that touched herheart the closest was the gentle consideration and courtesywhich the man always accorded her.

That such nobility of character could lie beneath so repulsivean exterior never ceased to be a source of wonder andamazement to her, until at last the innate chivalry of the man,and his unfailing kindliness and sympathy transformed hisappearance in so far as Jane was concerned until she sawonly the sweetness of his character mirrored in his countenance.

They had commenced to make a little better progress whenword reached them that Rokoff was but a few marches behindthem, and that he had at last discovered the direction oftheir flight. It was then that Anderssen took to the river,purchasing a canoe from a chief whose village lay a shortdistance from the Ugambi upon the bank of a tributary.

Thereafter the little party of fugitives fled up the broadUgambi, and so rapid had their flight become that they nolonger received word of their pursuers. At the end of canoenavigation upon the river, they abandoned their canoe andtook to the jungle. Here progress became at once arduous,slow, and dangerous.

The second day after leaving the Ugambi the baby fell illwith fever. Anderssen knew what the outcome must be, buthe had not the heart to tell Jane Clayton the truth, for he hadseen that the young woman had come to love the child almostas passionately as though it had been her own flesh and blood.

As the baby's condition precluded farther advance, Anderssenwithdrew a little from the main trail he had been followingand built a camp in a natural clearing on the bankof a little river.

Here Jane devoted her every moment to caring for the tinysufferer, and as though her sorrow and anxiety were not allthat she could bear, a further blow came with the suddenannouncement of one of the Mosula porters who had been foragingin the jungle adjacent that Rokoff and his party were campedquite close to them, and were evidently upon their trail to thislittle nook which all had thought so excellent a hiding-place.

This information could mean but one thing, and that they mustbreak camp and fly onward regardless of the baby's condition. Jane Clayton knew the traits of the Russian well enoughto be positive that he would separate her from the childthe moment that he recaptured them, and she knew thatseparation would mean the immediate death of the baby.

As they stumbled forward through the tangled vegetationalong an old and almost overgrown game trail the Mosulaporters deserted them one by one.

The men had been staunch enough in their devotion and loyaltyas long as they were in no danger of being overtaken by theRussian and his party. They had heard, however, so much ofthe atrocious disposition of Rokoff that they had grown tohold him in mortal terror, and now that they knew he was closeupon them their timid hearts would fortify them no longer,and as quickly as possible they deserted the three whites.

Yet on and on went Anderssen and the girl. The Swedewent ahead, to hew a way through the brush where the pathwas entirely overgrown, so that on this march it wasnecessary that the young woman carry the child.

All day they marched. Late in the afternoon they realizedthat they had failed. Close behind them they heard the noiseof a large safari advancing along the trail which they hadcleared for their pursuers.

When it became quite evident that they must be overtakenin a short time Anderssen hid Jane behind a large tree,covering her and the child with brush.

"There is a village about a mile farther on," he said to her. "The Mosula told me its location before they deserted us. Ay try to lead the Russian off your trail, then you go onto the village. Ay tank the chief ban friendly to white men--the Mosula tal me he ban. Anyhow, that was all we can do.

"After while you get chief to tak you down by the Mosulavillage at the sea again, an' after a while a ship is sure to putinto the mouth of the Ugambi. Then you be all right. Gude-by an'gude luck to you, lady!"

"But where are you going, Sven?" asked Jane. "Why can'tyou hide here and go back to the sea with me?"

"Ay gotta tal the Russian you ban dead, so that he don'tluke for you no more," and Anderssen grinned.

"Why can't you join me then after you have told him that?"insisted the girl.

Anderssen shook his head.

"Ay don't tank Ay join anybody any more after Ay tal theRussian you ban dead," he said.

"You don't mean that you think he will kill you?" asked Jane,and yet in her heart she knew that that was exactly what thegreat scoundrel would do in revenge for his having beenthwarted by the Swede. Anderssen did not reply, other thanto warn her to silence and point toward the path along whichthey had just come.

"I don't care," whispered Jane Clayton. "I shall not letyou die to save me if I can prevent it in any way. Give meyour revolver. I can use that, and together we may be ableto hold them off until we can find some means of escape."

"It won't work, lady," replied Anderssen. "They wouldonly get us both, and then Ay couldn't do you no good at all. Think of the kid, lady, and what it would be for you both tofall into Rokoff's hands again. For his sake you must do whatAy say. Here, take my rifle and ammunition; you may need them."

He shoved the gun and bandoleer into the shelter beside Jane. Then he was gone.

She watched him as he returned along the path to meet theoncoming safari of the Russian. Soon a turn in the trail hidhim from view.

Her first impulse was to follow. With the rifle she mightbe of assistance to him, and, further, she could not bear theterrible thought of being left alone at the mercy of the fearfuljungle without a single friend to aid her.

She started to crawl from her shelter with the intention ofrunning after Anderssen as fast as she could. As she drewthe baby close to her she glanced down into its little face.

How red it was! How unnatural the little thing looked. She raised the cheek to hers. It was fiery hot with fever!

With a little gasp of terror Jane Clayton rose to her feetin the jungle path. The rifle and bandoleer lay forgotten inthe shelter beside her. Anderssen was forgotten, and Rokoff,and her great peril.

All that rioted through her fear-mad brain was the fearfulfact that this little, helpless child was stricken with theterrible jungle-fever, and that she was helpless to do aught toallay its sufferings--sufferings that were sure to coming duringensuing intervals of partial consciousness.

Her one thought was to find some one who could help her--some womanwho had had children of her own--and with the thought came recollectionof the friendly village of which Anderssen had spoken. If she couldbut reach it--in time!

There was no time to be lost. Like a startled antelope sheturned and fled up the trail in the direction Anderssenhad indicated.

From far behind came the sudden shouting of men, the sound of shots,and then silence. She knew that Anderssen had met the Russian.

A half-hour later she stumbled, exhausted, into a littlethatched village. Instantly she was surrounded by men,women, and children. Eager, curious, excited natives pliedher with a hundred questions, no one of which she couldunderstand or answer.

All that she could do was to point tearfully at the baby,now wailing piteously in her arms, and repeat over and over,"Fever--fever--fever."

The blacks did not understand her words, but they saw thecause of her trouble, and soon a young woman had pulledher into a hut and with several others was doing her poorbest to quiet the child and allay its agony.

The witch doctor came and built a little fire before theinfant, upon which he boiled some strange concoction in asmall earthen pot, making weird passes above it and mumblingstrange, monotonous chants. Presently he dipped a zebra'stail into the brew, and with further mutterings and incantationssprinkled a few drops of the liquid over the baby's face.

After he had gone the women sat about and moaned andwailed until Jane thought that she should go mad; but,knowing that they were doing it all out of the kindnessof their hearts, she endured the frightful waking nightmareof those awful hours in dumb and patient suffering.

It must have been well toward midnight that she becameconscious of a sudden commotion in the village. She heardthe voices of the natives raised in controversy, but she couldnot understand the words.

Presently she heard footsteps approaching the hut in whichshe squatted before a bright fire with the baby on her lap. The little thing lay very still now, its lids, half-raised,showed the pupils horribly upturned.

Jane Clayton looked into the little face with fear-haunted eyes. It was not her baby--not her flesh and blood--but how close,how dear the tiny, helpless thing had become to her. Her heart, bereft of its own, had gone out to this poor,little, nameless waif, and lavished upon it all the lovethat had been denied her during the long, bitter weeksof her captivity aboard the Kincaid.

She saw that the end was near, and though she was terrifiedat contemplation of her loss, still she hoped that it wouldcome quickly now and end the sufferings of the little victim.

The footsteps she had heard without the hut now haltedbefore the door. There was a whispered colloquy, and amoment later M'ganwazam, chief of the tribe, entered. She hadseen but little of him, as the women had taken her in handalmost as soon as she had entered the village.

M'ganwazam, she now saw, was an evil-appearing savagewith every mark of brutal degeneracy writ large upon hisbestial countenance. To Jane Clayton he looked more gorillathan human. He tried to converse with her, but without success,and finally he called to some one without.

In answer to his summons another Negro entered--a manof very different appearance from M'ganwazam--so different,in fact, that Jane Clayton immediately decided that he wasof another tribe. This man acted as interpreter, and almostfrom the first question that M'ganwazam put to her, Jane feltan intuitive conviction that the savage was attempting todraw information from her for some ulterior motive.

She thought it strange that the fellow should so suddenlyhave become interested in her plans, and especially in herintended destination when her journey had been interruptedat his village.

Seeing no reason for withholding the information, she toldhim the truth; but when he asked if she expected to meet herhusband at the end of the trip, she shook her head negatively.

Then he told her the purpose of his visit, talking throughthe interpreter.

"I have just learned," he said, "from some men who liveby the side of the great water, that your husband followedyou up the Ugambi for several marches, when he was at lastset upon by natives and killed. Therefore I have told you thisthat you might not waste your time in a long journey if youexpected to meet your husband at the end of it; but insteadcould turn and retrace your steps to the coast."

Jane thanked M'ganwazam for his kindness, though her heartwas numb with suffering at this new blow. She who hadsuffered so much was at last beyond reach of the keenestof misery's pangs, for her senses were numbed and calloused.

With bowed head she sat staring with unseeing eyes uponthe face of the baby in her lap. M'ganwazam had left the hut. Sometime later she heard a noise at the entrance--anotherhad entered. One of the women sitting opposite her threw afaggot upon the dying embers of the fire between them.

With a sudden flare it burst into renewed flame, lightingup the hut's interior as though by magic.

The flame disclosed to Jane Clayton's horrified gaze that the babywas quite dead. How long it had been so she could not guess.

A choking lump rose to her throat, her head drooped insilent misery upon the little bundle that she had caughtsuddenly to her breast.

For a moment the silence of the hut was unbroken.Then the native woman broke into a hideous wail.

A man coughed close before Jane Clayton and spoke her name.

With a start she raised her eyes to look into the sardoniccountenance of Nikolas Rokoff.