Everywhere appeared the same bush-clad valleys and barren rises, miles upon miles of them.

I bethought me of the map that old Zikali had drawn in the ashes, and remembered that it showed these valleys and rises and that beyond them there should be a great swamp, and beyond the swamp a mountain.

So it seemed that we were on the right road to the home of his white Queen, if such a person existed, or at any rate we were passing over country similar to that which he had pictured or imagined.
But at this time I was not troubling my head about white queens.

I was thinking of poor Inez.

That she was alive a few days before we knew from the fragments of her dress.