The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757 eBook

A single look was sufficient to apprise the pretended leech that the invalid was far beyond his powers of healing.  She lay in a sort of paralysis, indifferent to the objects which crowded before her sight, and happily unconscious of suffering.  Heyward was far from regretting that his mummeries were to be performed on one who was much too ill to take an interest in their failure or success.  The slight qualm of conscience which had been excited by the intended deception was instantly appeased, and he began to collect his thoughts, in order to enact his part with suitable spirit, when he found he was about to be anticipated in his skill by an attempt to prove the power of music.

Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his spirit in song when the visitors entered, after delaying a moment, drew a strain from his pipe, and commenced a hymn that might have worked a miracle, had faith in its efficacy been of much avail.  He was allowed to proceed to the close, the Indians respecting his imaginary infirmity, and Duncan too glad of the delay to hazard the slightest interruption.  As the dying cadence of his strains was falling on the ears of the latter, he started aside at hearing them repeated behind him, in a voice half human and half sepulchral.  Looking around, he beheld the shaggy monster seated on end in a shadow of the cavern, where, while his restless body swung in the uneasy manner of the animal, it repeated, in a sort of low growl, sounds, if not words, which bore some slight resemblance to the melody of the singer.

The effect of so strange an echo on David may better be imagined than described.  His eyes opened as if he doubted their truth; and his voice became instantly mute in excess of wonder.  A deep-laid scheme, of communicating some important intelligence to Heyward, was driven from his recollection by an emotion which very nearly resembled fear, but which he was fain to believe was admiration.  Under its influence, he exclaimed aloud:  “She expects you, and is at hand”; and precipitately left the cavern.

CHAPTER 25

     “Snug.—­Have you the lion’s part written?  Pray you, if it
     be, give it to me, for I am slow of study.

     Quince.—­You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but
     roaring.” 
     —­Midsummer Night’s Dream.

There was a strange blending of the ridiculous with that which was solemn in this scene.  The beast still continued its rolling, and apparently untiring movements, though its ludicrous attempt to imitate the melody of David ceased the instant the latter abandoned the field.  The words of Gamut were, as has been seen, in his native tongue; and to Duncan they seem pregnant with some hidden meaning, though nothing present assisted him in discovering the object of their allusion.  A speedy end was, however, put to every conjecture on the subject, by the manner of the chief, who advanced to the bedside of the invalid, and beckoned away the whole group of female attendants that had clustered there to witness the skill of the stranger.  He was implicitly, though reluctantly, obeyed; and when the low echo which rang along the hollow, natural gallery, from the distant closing door, had ceased, pointing toward his insensible daughter, he said: