But what caught my eye was the figure that stood before the tent.

It was a long fellow, who held his arms to heaven, and sang in a great throaty voice the wild dirge I had been listening to.

He held a book in one hand, from which he would pluck leaves and cast them on the fire, and at every burnt-offering a wail of ecstasy would go up from the hooded women and kneeling men.
Then with a final howl he hurled what remained of his book into the flames, and with upraised hands began some sort of prayer.
I would have fled if I could; but Providence willed it otherwise.

The edge of the bank on which I stood had been rotted by the rain, and the whole thing gave under my feet.

I slithered down into the sheepfold, and pitched headforemost among the worshipping women.