After conducting the party round the sacred inclosure, assisting his
way with his staff, for his child had left him, Pani seated himself on
a low, mossy stone, grimly surrounded by idols; and directed the
pilgrims to return to his habitation; where, ere long he would rejoin
them.

The pilgrims departed, he remained in profound meditation; while,
backward and forward, an invisible ploughshare turned up the long
furrows on his brow.

Long he was silent; then muttered to himself, "That boy, that wild,
wise boy, has stabbed me to the heart. His thoughts are my suspicions.
But he is honest. Yet I harm none. Multitudes must have unspoken
meditations as well as I. Do we then mutually deceive? Off masks,
mankind, that I may know what warranty of fellowship with others, my
own thoughts possess. Why, upon this one theme, oh Oro! must all
dissemble? Our thoughts are not our own. Whate'er it be, an honest
thought must have some germ of truth. But we must set, as flows the
general stream; I blindly follow, where I seem to lead; the crowd of
pilgrims is so great, they see not there is none to guide.--It hinges
upon this: Have we angelic spirits? But in vain, in vain, oh Oro! I
essay to live out of this poor, blind body, fit dwelling for my
sightless soul. Death, death:--blind, am I dead? for blindness seems a
consciousness of death. Will my grave be more dark, than all is now?--
From dark to dark!--What is this subtle something that is in me, and
eludes me? Will it have no end? When, then, did it begin? All, all is
chaos! What is this shining light in heaven, this sun they tell me of?
Or, do they lie? Methinks, it might blaze convictions; but I brood and
grope in blackness; I am dumb with doubt; yet, 'tis not doubt, but