Thus Mrs. Weldon knew what to believe. The various incidents, of the
way had enlightened her also, and perhaps, too, that word, "Africa!"
so unluckily pronounced the night before by Cousin Benedict.
"Mrs. Weldon knows everything," repeated Dick Sand to himself. "Well,
perhaps it is better so. The brave woman does not despair. I shall not
despair either."
Dick Sand now longed for day to return, that he might explore the
surroundings of this termite village. He must find a tributary of the
Atlantic with a rapid course to transport all his little troop. He had
a presentiment that this watercourse could not be far distant. Above
all, they must avoid an encounter with the natives, perhaps already
sent in pursuit of them under Harris's and Negoro's direction.
But it was not day yet. No light made its way into the cone through
the lower orifice. Rumblings, rendered low by the thickness of the
walls, indicated that the storm still raged. Listening, Dick Sand also
heard the rain falling with violence at the base of the ant-hill. As
the large drops no longer struck a hard soil, he must conclude that
the whole plain was inundated.
It must have been about eleven o'clock. Dick Sand then felt that a
kind of torpor, if not a true sleep, was going to overcome him. It
would, however, be rest.
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