There the fires
burned dimly, there the huddled shape of the Motombo still crouched
upon the platform. Silently, silently we disembarked, and I formed our
procession while the others looked askance at the horrible face of the
dead Motombo.
I headed it, then came the Mother of the Flower, followed by Hans,
playing his part of the god of the forest; then Brother John and
Stephen carrying the Holy Flower. After it walked Hope, while Mavovo
brought up the rear. Near to one of the fires, as I had noted on our
first passage of the cave, lay a pile of the torches which I have
already mentioned. We lit some of them, and at a sign from me, Mavovo
dragged the canoe back into its little dock and tied the cord to its
post. Its appearance there, apparently undisturbed, might, I thought,
make our crossing of the water seem even more mysterious. All this
while I watched the doors in the sides of the cave, expecting every
moment to see the women rush out. But none came. Perhaps they slept,
or perhaps they were absent; I do not know to this day.
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