The accident of their coming--no unusual thing on these exposed
islands--might have made untroubled people only laugh, but it produced
the contrary effect on both our visitors. Levin felt a superstitious
fear seize upon him, and, turning to Joe Johnson, he saw that person
with a face so pale that it showed his blood-gathered eye yet darker and
more hideous, like a brand upon his countenance, gazing upon the late
empty preaching-booth.
There Levin, turning his eyes, observed a solitary man kneeling, of a
plain appearance and dress, and with locks of womanly hair falling
carelessly upon a large and almost noble forehead, his arms raised to
heaven and his voice flowing out in a mellow stream of supplication, in
the intervals of which the geese could be heard quacking aloud and
paddling their wings as they balanced and hopped over the camp-meeting
arena.
"Who's he a prayin' to?" Levin asked of Joe Johnson.
"Quemar!" muttered Johnson, as if he were terrified at something; "his
potato-trap is swallerin' ghosts! Curse on the swaddler? The kid will
whindle directly. Come, boy, come!"
At this, seizing Levin's hand, partly in persuasion, partly as if he
wanted the lad's protection, Johnson, fairly trembling, ran for the
boat.
Levin was frightened too; the more that he saw the stronger man's fear.
As they dashed across the camp-ground the wild-geese took alarm, and,
some running, some flying, scudded towards the Sound.
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