THE HAUNTED JUNGLE.
IN THREE CHAPTERS.
CHAP. III.—THE BREAKING OF THE SPELL.
When the day dawned, it found the púsári still in the temple offering prayers and supplications to the god for deliverance from the spell he was under. As soon as it was sufficiently light for him to see his way, he left the temple and went down into the village. A hope had risen in his breast that his prayers may have been answered, and he was anxious to ascertain whether he was still invisible. The hope was soon dispelled. As he passed the door of a hut, an old man came out yawning and stretching his arms, and though the púsári stood right before him, took no notice of him. Filled with despair, the púsári went to his own house and sat in the porch, a prey to the gloomiest, most miserable thoughts. He occupied himself in watching Vallee. The overwhelming grief and agitation of the preceding day had passed off, leaving her listless, unhappy, and restless. She was trying to attend to her household duties; but her thoughts were elsewhere, for she sighed frequently and her eyes filled with tears very often. Every now and then, she went to the door and glanced out. On one such occasion she uttered an exclamation of surprise. On looking out, the púsári saw several men and women whom he recognised as some of his relatives, who lived in a village at some distance, coming towards him. On entering the house, one or two of the new-comers saluted Vallee curtly and coldly, but the rest took no notice of her. Abashed and pained by their conduct, Vallee retired to a corner and waited to see what they had come for. They made themselves quite at home at once. It was soon evident they had heard of the púsári’s disappearance, and were come to see about his property, being persuaded he would never come back. After a while, they began to examine the house and to make a sort of rough inventory of what it contained.
‘What are you doing, uncle?’ asked Vallee of one of them, a thin, ferrety-faced man, who was her father’s brother.
The man made no reply. Presently, he caught sight of the púsári’s strong-box in a corner of the hut, and turning to her, abruptly demanded the key.
‘My father keeps it,’ she replied.
‘Do not name your father to us!’ said her uncle sharply. ‘We have cast him off; we disown him!’
‘But not his property, it appears,’ retorted Vallee with spirit. ‘And I tell you, Sinnan Ummiyán, it will not be well for you when my father comes home and hears what you have said of him!’
‘Dare you mock me, daughter of a murderer!’ exclaimed her uncle, as he gave her a sharp box on the ear.