The flickering flames cast a thousand weird shadows on the trailing mosses and black shrouded trees, and filled the air with a grateful warmth.
Benè-agâ now drew forth some dried fruit and berries.
We ate in silence.
Bulger sniffed at the food but nothing more.
Our frugal repast concluded, the blind hermit took from his leathern pouch a sharp-pointed piece of flint with which he pierced the bark of a tree near our bivouac. Into the hole he thrust a slender reed. I was astonished to see a limpid liquid flow from the end of the reed. He filled a gourd with it and placing the drinking vessel in my hand said in a low, caressing voice:
“Drink, my son! ’Twill refresh and strengthen thee!”
I raised the gourd to my lips. The liquid was cool and sweet, and very pleasing to the taste.
“Drink as deep as thou wilt, my son,” cried Benè-agâ, “for Palin-mâ-Talin could slake the thirst of an army.”
Again I placed the gourd to my lips. This time I drank long and deep. A gentle warmth now coursed thro’ my limbs. My eye-lids sank downward, oppressed with a most delicious longing for sleep. Pillowing my head on Benè-agâ’s pouch, with my hand resting on my faithful Bulger’s head, I was soon wrapped in slumber.
When I awoke, it was still night. The pine knots had burned nearly out. There sat the blind hermit beside me. I could see that he was keeping watch. His head turned as I stirred.