“Ha, we are now arrived,” said the guide, taking a long inspiration.
The travellers made two or three steps forward, and they immediately perceived a faint light that glimmered indistinctly through the brushwood.
“Now, madame, you must disguise yourself, or else she won’t speak to you,” said the guide.
“Why so?”
“Because,” replied the guide, “there is a law in this country against those who tell fortunes. If it was to be known that she told anything to any one, she would be burnt alive. Leave your veil here, madame, there, so, and hide your comb with it. That’s it, that’s it; now take this handkerchief, tie it round your head—let me do it.”
The guide tied and adjusted a Madras handkerchief on the head of the lady.
“Now let us go: and recollect let me speak.”
The two travellers diverged into a still narrower part that was almost entirely hidden by the bush which grew thickly and fully about it.
The angry barking of a dog was now heard. The travellers still went on, until they could now distinguish the outlines of a low and narrow hut, in the open part of which the embers of a wood fire still smouldered. By its faint light, was to be indistinctly seen, the form of the wakeful watch-dog, that stood determinedly a little way in front of the hut, and barked fiercely and fretfully.
The two women stood, afraid of approaching nearer. The dog still barked noisily.