I was startled from a deep sleep by hearing the full round voice of Benè-agâ saying: “Up! up! little traveler, up! my son, the morn is breaking. The appointed hour has come! To-day we must enter Palin-mâ-Talin or all thy apprenticeship shall have been in vain!”
I sprang up; and, approaching Benè-agâ, related in tones of unfeigned grief, how I had disregarded the sacred compact between us; and, that, altho’ it cut me to the heart, to be obliged to turn back, when I stood upon the very confines of the Great Gloomy Forest, yet I was not worthy to follow him, and was firmly resolved not to plead for mercy!
All! I told him all! how my frame had been so racked by pain that I was upon the very point of crying out for release from the terrible compact, when my beloved Bulger came to my relief, and saved me from that degradation. He heard me in silence, his noble countenance giving no sign or hint of what was going on within that lofty soul.
At last, a sad and almost imperceptible smile spread over his face and he spake as follows: “Take heart, my son. All is forgiven. Thou art but a child and I should have lightened the burden of this apprenticeship. Nor can I hold thee worthy of blame for yielding to such a touching proof of thy dog’s love for thee! Hadst thou repulsed him he would have lain in wakeful sorrow by thy bedside all that night—dear, faithful soul! Would he belonged to me!”
So saying, Benè-agâ bent his towering form and caressed Bulger’s head and ears.
Nor was Bulger slow in returning the hermit’s caresses. They had become the best of friends. Bulger felt the fascination of Benè-agâ’s mysterious power from the very first.
When the hour arrived for us to leave the rocky chamber of gloom and silence, and step out into the sunlight once more, my heart broke out into its old-time beat. Had I not been in the presence of the venerable Benè-agâ, I should have leapt and danced for joy, as we emerged from that dreary abode, and I felt the warm air fan my cheek once more. But, one thing struck me now most forcibly. It was the wonderful change which I noted in the blind hermit himself, when he stood in the sunlight and the morning breezes tossed the curls of his white, silken hair, like April winds making merry with a flock of snowflakes. First, his appearance was quite different from that to which I had become accustomed. A leathern cap crowned his massive head, and held his thick, rebellious hair somewhat in control. His wide-flowing beard had entirely disappeared beneath his rude garb, save where it clothed his face and neck. I saw at once that he was clad for work—for toilsome progress through Palin-mâ-Talin’s thick growth. In his right hand he carried a curious rod or wand, long, slender, polished and extremely flexible. I soon learned to wonder at his extraordinary skill in using this staff to guide his steps or discover the nature of any object not within the reach of his hands. A rude pouch or leather bag was swung across his shoulder.
The change in Benè-agâ’s manner was still more noticeable. To me, this change was as pleasing as it was unexpected. In a brief half hour he became another man. His deep, rich voice, soft and round as the sound of an organ-pipe took on a mellower tone! A faint smile wreathed his noble features, as the sunlight fell upon them. His step became quick and elastic, his movements brisk and agile. So wonderfully keen were his remaining senses that only the closest observer could have guessed that he was blind.
Turning in the direction of the spot where his dogs were at play, he startled me by breaking out into a joyous,—
“Yo ho! my children! Yo ho! my brothers! Here to me! Here to me!”