Perhaps in that small interval of time many
ideas presented themselves to his imagination. His hands had just
completed the last service he could render to a woman who, no doubt, had
been useful to him; one to whom he was certainly attached (of many
instances of which we had at different times been witness) and one who
had left him a living pledge of some moments at least of endearment.
Perhaps under the heap which his hands had raised, and on which his eyes
were fixed, his imagination traced the form of her whom he might formerly
have fought for, and whom he now was never to behold again. Perhaps when
turning from the grave of his deceased companion, he directed all his
thoughts to the preservation of the little one she had left him; and when
he quitted the spot his anxiety might be directed to the child, in the
idea that he might one day see his Ba-rang-aroo revive in his little
motherless Dil-boong.
Cole-be's wife, who bore the same names as the deceased, lost them both
on this occasion, and was called by every one Bo-rahng-al-le-on. This
peculiarity was also observed by them with respect to a little girl of
ours, of whom Ba-rang-a-roo was so fond as to call her always by her own
name.
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