In the midst of these often-repeated and mysterious sounds, Submission
alone seemed calm and unmoved. Turning his look from the countenance of
the boy, whose head had dropped upon his breast as the last notes of the
conch rang among the buildings, he motioned hurriedly to Dudley to follow,
and left the place.
There was, in good truth, that in the secluded situation of the valley,
the darkness of the hour, and the nature of the several interruptions,
which might readily awaken deep concern in the breasts of men as firm
even as those who now issued into the open air, in quest of the solution
of doubts that were becoming intensely painful. The stranger, or
Submission, as we may in future have frequent occasion to call him, led
the way in silence to a point of the eminence, without the buildings,
where the eye might overlook the palisadoes that hedged the sides of the
acclivity, and command a view beyond of all that the dusky and imperfect
light would reveal.
It was a scene that required familiarity with a border life to be looked
on, at any moment, with indifference.
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