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. While these terrible thoughts were chasing each other thro’ my mind, Benè-agâ halted; and, resting his staff upon the branches of the nearest tree, broke out into one of his wild invocations: “O Palin-mâ-Talin, Benè-agâ calls unto thee! Hear him! He is astray! Set his feet in the right path! Let him not wander aimlessly about in thy gloom and silence. O, Palin-mâ-Talin! He is thy child; be kind and loving to him!” With these words Benè-agâ threw himself upon his knees, tore away the thick covering of moss, until he had laid bare the forest floor; from this, he took up a handful of the soil and pressed it between his fingers as if to test some secret quality. When he arose I knew that all was well. A radiant glow played about his features. He was himself again! Catching up his wand, he broke away with mad strides, as if pursued by very demons. Only by running could I keep within sight of him. On! on! we sped along the banks of Lool-pâ-Tool stream of the “Drowsy Watery,” mile by mile, Benè-agâ carolling his wild chants of glad thanks, I panting as if bent upon escaping fleshless death himself. Another hundred paces and I would have fallen headlong to the ground. My feet seemed shod with lead. Bulger set up a most piteous whining as he saw the look of despair settling on my face. Suddenly the blind hermit halted; and, turning towards me, cried out in a joyous tone: