The recluse looked at her fixedly. “You are in earnest, I am sure,” he muttered. “Pray, young people, do not depart from your usual custom; I will wait for you.”
Arthur, I should have said, though the youngest, always led us in prayer. “As he is absent,” I remarked to Ellen’s request, “I will do so.”
“Oh, you have a young chaplain with you,” said the recluse; “and what pay does he receive?”
“None at all, sir,” answered Ellen. “He is only earnest and good.”
“I should like to meet him,” said the recluse.
“I hope you may, sir,” said Ellen, “if you come with us.”
A short prayer was offered up. I spoke with the earnestness I felt. Ellen then read a portion of Scripture from the Bible she had always at hand in her trunk. Our host listened attentively, his eyes fixed on our young sister. I had not observed a copy of the blessed Book on his shelves. He made no remark, however, on the subject, but I thought his tone was less morose than before.
We were soon in our hammocks, a small oil lamp, which was kept burning on the table, throwing a subdued light through the chamber. True, I should have said, from our first meeting with the stranger, had eyed him askance, having apparently some doubts as to his character. He now came and coiled himself up in his usual position under my hammock. He had kept as far off from him as he could during the evening, and did not seem satisfied till the tall figure of the recluse was stretched out in his hammock near the entrance of the hut. The rain pattering overhead, and splashing down on the soft ground round us, kept me for some time awake. It ceased at length, and soon afterwards, just as I was dropping off to sleep, a chorus of hideous sounds commenced, coming apparently from no great distance in the forest. Now they resembled the cries and groans of a number of people in distress. Now it seemed as if a whole troop of jaguars were growling and snarling over their prey. Now it seemed as if a company of Brobdignag cats were singing a serenade. Now the sounds for a moment ceased, but were instantly taken up again by other creatures at a distance. After a time, the same sounds recommenced in another quarter. Had I not already been well accustomed to similar noises, I might have fancied that we had got into some forest haunted by evil spirits bewailing their lost condition. I was sufficiently awake, however, to guess that they proceeded only from troops of howling monkeys, though we had never yet heard them so near, or in such numbers. In spite of the hideous concert, I at last fell asleep.
The voice of our host aroused us at daybreak. “As soon as you have broken your fast, I will accompany you to find your companions,” he said, “unless you desire to proceed by water. In that case, you will scarcely meet them; but I would advise you to leave your canoe and raft here, as I can conduct you through the forest by the only open paths which exist, and by which alone they can make their way in this direction. I am afraid, unless they had their wits about them, they must have been exposed to the tempest last night, and may be but ill able to travel far this morning.”
John at once decided to go by land, as the canoe was not large enough to convey all our party. The recluse looked at Ellen. “She will scarcely be able to undergo the fatigue of so long a walk,” he remarked. “If she wishes it, she and her attendant can remain here, while we go to meet your companions; and you can then return and remove your property, or leave it till you can find the means of continuing your voyage. I did not purpose to allow my solitude to be thus broken in on; but,”—and he looked again at Ellen—“she reminds me of days gone by, and I cannot permit her to be exposed to more trials than are necessary.”