Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 7, 2025
"Thou must die, indeed, as a sacrifice to the Old Ones who sit yonder," and she pointed to the peaks; "but it is better to sleep in the night than to toil in the daytime; it is better to die than to live, and thou shalt die by the royal hand of the king's own son." The girl Foulata wrung her hands in anguish, and cried out aloud, "Oh, cruel! and I so young!
As a remedy Foulata brought us some pounded green leaves, with an aromatic odour, which, when applied as a plaster, gave us considerable relief. But though the bruises were painful, they did not give us such anxiety as Sir Henry's and Good's wounds.
By now we are running down the passage, and this is what the light from the lamp shows us. The door of the rock is closing down slowly; it is not three feet from the floor. Near it struggle Foulata and Gagool. The red blood of the former runs to her knee, but still the brave girl holds the old witch, who fights like a wild cat. Ah! she is free!
"Are ye prepared to enter the Place of Death, white men?" asked Gagool, evidently with a view to making us feel uncomfortable. "Lead on, Macduff," said Good solemnly, trying to look as though he was not at all alarmed, as indeed we all did except Foulata, who caught Good by the arm for protection. "This is getting rather ghastly," said Sir Henry, peeping into the dark passageway.
"Now that thou art quiet, give us thy name, my dear. Come, speak out, and fear not," said Gagool in mockery. "Oh, mother," answered the girl, in trembling accents, "my name is Foulata, of the house of Suko. Oh, mother, why must I die? I have done no wrong!" "Be comforted," went on the old woman in her hateful tone of mockery.
Somehow, with the assistance of the beautiful Foulata, who, since we had been the means of saving her life, had constituted herself our handmaiden, and especially Good's, we managed to get off the chain shirts, which had certainly saved the lives of two of us that day.
Foulata falls, and Gagool throws herself on the ground, to twist like a snake through the crack of the closing stone. She is under ah! god! too late! too late! The stone nips her, and she yells in agony. Down, down it comes, all the thirty tons of it, slowly pressing her old body against the rock below.
Come on, come on, here is the lamp," and she drew a large gourd full of oil, and fitted with a rush wick, from under her fur cloak. "Art thou coming, Foulata?" asked Good in his villainous Kitchen Kukuana, in which he had been improving himself under that young lady's tuition. "I fear, my lord," the girl answered timidly. "Then give me the basket."
It may seem a queer thing to say, especially considering that there is no woman in it except Foulata. Stop, though! there is Gagaoola, if she was a woman, and not a fiend. But she was a hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so I don't count her. At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a petticoat in the whole history. Well, I had better come to the yoke.
"Tell her," said Good, "that I owe her my life, and that I will never forget her kindness to my dying day." I interpreted, and under her dark skin she actually seemed to blush. Turning to him with one of those swift and graceful motions that in her always reminded me of the flight of a wild bird, Foulata answered softly, glancing at him with her large brown eyes "Nay, my lord; my lord forgets!
Word Of The Day
Others Looking