The air, too, grew very oppressive.
Dense silence reigned.

In all those multitudes no one spoke or stirred; even Sammy ceased his howling, I suppose because he had become exhausted and fainted away, as people often do just before they are hanged.

It was a most solemn time.

Nature seemed to be adapting herself to the mood of sacrifice and making ready for us a mighty pall.
At length I heard the sound of arrows being drawn from their quivers, and then the squeaky voice of Imbozwi, saying: "Wait a little, the cloud will lift.

There is light behind it, and it will be nicer if they can see the arrows coming." The cloud did begin to lift, very slowly, and from beneath it flowed a green light like that in a cat's eye.
"Shall we shoot, Imbozwi ?" asked the voice of the captain of the archers.
"Not yet, not yet.