“Ah,” murmured the blind hermit, half in soliloquy “that was a greeting from the drowsy waters of Lool-pâ-Tool!”
Imagine the feeling of utter helplessness which came over me an hour or so later when, suddenly I found myself standing upon the banks of a broad streamlet, of hue blacker than the wings of night, apparently stagnant; or, at least so sluggish as to seem well deserving of the title “Drowsy Waters.”
“This is Lool-pâ-Tool!” said Benè-agâ, as he rested his chin on his hand and seemed to be gazing down on its inky surface.
But how to cross it, for no bark was moored in sight—was now the bewildering thought which oppressed my mind! Surely it cannot be forded, for to the eye it seemed as deep as it was silent and mysterious. Nor yet, would it be otherwise than inviting death itself to plunge into its stagnant waters and swim to the other side.
While I stood thus wrapped in a cloud of anxious thought, Benè-agâ himself seemed scarcely less perplexed. His usual calmness had deserted him.
Drawing some pebbles from his leather pouch, he cast them one by one into the stream, bending forward to catch the sound they made with eager, listening air. Then turning to the right he followed the banks of Lool-pâ-Tool, keeping his staff in the water and beating it gently with the tip as if striving to draw some secret from it.
Again he paused and cast some pebbles into the dark and sluggish stream, and bent forward to get their answer. Again, he woke the echoes, and listened breathlessly to the reply that came, only to take up the march after a brief delay with what seemed to me a somewhat hesitating step. Evidently he was astray. His calm, noble face lost its look of serene confidence. Suddenly halting, he reached out for a handful of foliage, crushed the leaves in a quick and nervous grasp, inhaled their odor, and then resumed his march as before, with head dropped forward on his breast, and doubt and uncertainty visible in every movement.
For an instant the thought flashed thro’ my mind that possibly Benè-agâ had gone so far astray as to make the discovery of the right course impossible. I could feel my lips draw apart, and my heart creep slowly upward into my throat!
The thought of a lingering death from starvation in the chill, dark corridors of Palin-mâ-Talin, set a knife in my heart.
I almost tottered as I followed the blind hermit’s lead. My tongue was too dry to let me cry out to him in my sudden despair.