The scene before us bore a great resemblance to
that picture. There was Charon's boat floating on the dreadful Styx.
Yonder glowed the lights of the world, here was the gloomy, unknown
shore. And we, we were the souls of the dead awaiting the last
destruction at the teeth and claws of some unknown monster, such as
that which haunts the recesses of the Egyptian hell. Oh! the parallel
was painfully exact. And yet, what do you think was the remark of that
irrepressible young man Stephen?
"Here we are at last, Allan, my boy," he said, "and after all without
any trouble on our own part. I call it downright providential. Oh!
isn't it jolly! Hip, hip, hooray!"
Yes, he danced about in that filthy mud, threw up his cap and cheered!
I withered, or rather tried to wither him with a look, muttering the
single word: "Lunatic."
Providential! Jolly! Well, it's fortunate that some people's madness
takes a cheerful turn. Then I asked the Kalubi where the god was.
"Everywhere," he replied, waving his trembling hand at the illimitable
forest.
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