Torn, not sleepy, but absorbed in his remembrances, his head bent,
remained quiet, as if he had been struck by some sudden blow.

Mrs. Weldon rocked her child in her arms, and only thought of him.

Only Cousin Benedict slept, perhaps, for he alone did not suffer from
the common impression. His faculty for looking forward did not go so
far.

Suddenly, about eleven o'clock, a prolonged and grave roaring was
heard, with which was mingled a sort of sharper shuddering. Tom stood
up and stretched out his hand toward a dense thicket, a mile or more
distant.

Dick Sand seized his arm, but he could not prevent Tom from crying in a
loud voice: "The lion! the lion!"

This roaring, which he had so often heard in his infancy, the old black
had just recognized it.

"The lion!" he repeated.

Dick Sand, incapable of controlling himself longer, rushed, cutlass in
hand, to the place occupied by Harris.

Harris was no longer there, and his horse had disappeared with him.

A sort of revelation took place in Dick Sand's mind. He was not where
he had believed he was!