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rom 28th to 30th January, Mokoum and Emery never left therendezvous. While the bushman, true to his instinct, passed his time in shootingdeer and beasts of prey indiscriminately in the covers adjoining the cataract, theyoung astronomer watched the course of the river——the sight of Nature sogrand and so wild ravished him and filled his soul with emotions completelynew to him.
He, the man of figures, the savant always bent over his catalogues, hiseyes glued day and night to his telescope, watching the stars as they passed themeridian, or calculating their occultations——he enjoyed this open-air life, eitherin the almost impenetrable woods which fringed the base of the hills, or on thedeserted hills sprinkled with moisture from the Morgheda cataracts. It was ajoy for him to feel the poetry of these vast solitudes, almost unknown to man,and to refresh his mind, fatigued with mathematical speculations. He thusovercame the dreariness of the delay while both body and mind gained new life.The novelty of this existence explained his patience, which the bushman wasincapable of sharing. Thence arose the same complaints on the part of thehunter, and the same calm replies from the astronomer, which failed to sooththe nervous bushman.
At last 31st January came, the last day mentioned in Mr. Airy's letter. Ifthe strangers they expected did not put in an appearance on that day, William -Emery would have to come to some decision, and this would embarrass himconsiderably. Their delay might be prolonged indefinitely, and how could hewait indefinitely？
‘Mr. William,' the hunter suggested, ‘why shouldn't we go and meet thestrangers？ We can't possibly miss them; there's only one way for them to come,by the river, and if they ascend it, as your bit of paper tells you, we can't fail tomeet them.'
‘That's a very good idea, Mokoum,' replied the astronomer; ‘let's make areconnaissance below the falls. We can find our way back by the valleys on thesouth. But tell me, bushm
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