- end_line
- 7437
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.027Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7409
- text
- adroop in the silent air.
Hunilla was partly prostrate upon the grave; her dark head bowed, and
lost in her long, loosened Indian hair; her hands extended to the
cross-foot, with a little brass crucifix clasped between; a crucifix
worn featureless, like an ancient graven knocker long plied in vain.
She did not see me, and I made no noise, but slid aside, and left the
spot.
A few moments ere all was ready for our going, she reappeared among us.
I looked into her eyes, but saw no tear. There was something which
seemed strangely haughty in her air, and yet it was the air of woe. A
Spanish and an Indian grief, which would not visibly lament. Pride’s
height in vain abased to proneness on the rack; nature’s pride subduing
nature’s torture.
Like pages the small and silken dogs surrounded her, as she slowly
descended towards the beach. She caught the two most eager creatures in
her arms:—“Mia Teeta! Mia Tomoteeta!” and fondling them, inquired how
many could we take on board.
The mate commanded the boat’s crew; not a hard-hearted man, but his way
of life had been such that in most things, even in the smallest, simple
utility was his leading motive.
“We cannot take them all, Hunilla; our supplies are short; the winds
are unreliable; we may be a good many days going to Tombez. So take
those you have, Hunilla; but no more.”
- title
- Chunk 9