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on her parted lips.  The smile died out, and was replaced by the old look of anxious attention.  From the hills far away the echo came back like a long-drawn and mournful sigh, as if the land had sent it in answer to the voice of its masters.
     

CHAPTER VIII.
     
    The news as to the identity of the body lying now in Almayer’s compound spread rapidly over the settlement.  During the forenoon most of the inhabitants remained in the long street discussing the mysterious return and the unexpected death of the man who had become known to them as the trader.  His arrival during the north-east monsoon, his long sojourn in their midst, his sudden departure with his brig, and, above all, the mysterious appearance of the body, said to be his, amongst the logs, were subjects to wonder at and to talk over and over again with undiminished interest.  Mahmat moved from house to house and from group to group, always ready to repeat his tale: how he saw the body caught by the sarong in a forked log; how Mrs. Almayer coming, one of the first, at his cries, recognised it, even before he had it hauled on shore; how Babalatchi ordered him to bring it out of the water.  “By the feet I dragged him in, and there was no head,” exclaimed Mahmat, “and how could the white man’s wife know who it was?  She was a witch, it was well known.  And did you see how the white man himself ran away at the sight of the body?  Like a deer he ran!”  And here Mahmat imitated Almayer’s long strides, to the great joy of the beholders.  And for all his trouble he had nothing.  The ring with the green stone Tuan Babalatchi kept.  “Nothing!  Nothing!”  He spat down at his feet in sign of disgust, and left that group to seek further on a fresh audience.
    The news spreading to the furthermost parts of the settlement found out Abdulla in the cool recess of his godown, where he sat overlooking his Arab clerks and the men loading and unloading the up-country canoes.  Reshid, who was busy on the jetty, was summoned into his uncle’s presence and found him, as usual, very calm and even cheerful, but very much surprised.  The rumour of the capture or destruction of Dain’s brig had reached the Arab’s ears three days before from the sea-fishermen and through the dwellers on the lower reaches of the river.  It had been passed up-stream from neighbour to neighbour till Bulangi, whose clearing was nearest to the settlement, had brought that news himself to Abdulla whose favour he courted.  But rumour also spoke of a fight and of Dain’s death on board his own vessel.  And now all the settlement talked of Dain’s visit to the Rajah and of his death when crossing the river in the dark to see Almayer.
    They could not understand this.  Reshid thought that it was very strange.  He felt uneasy and doubtful.  But Abdulla, after the first shock of surprise, with the old age’s dislike for solving riddles, showed a becoming resignation.  He remarked that the man was dead now at all events, and consequently no more dangerous.  Where was the use to wonder at the decrees of Fate, especially if they were propitious to the True Believers?  And with a pious ejaculation to Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, Abdulla seemed to regard the incident as closed for the present.
    Not so Reshid.  He lingered by his uncle, pulling thoughtfully his neatly trimmed beard.
    “There are many lies,” he murmured.  “He has been dead once before, and came to life to die again now.  The Dutch will be here before many days and clamour for the man.  Shall I not believe my eyes sooner than the tongues of women and idle men?”
    “They say that the body is being taken to Almayer’s compound,” said Abdulla.  “If you want to go there you must go before the Dutch arrive here.  Go late.  It should not be said that we have been seen inside that man’s enclosure lately.”
    Reshid assented to the truth of this last remark and left his uncle’s side.  He leaned against the lintel of the big doorway and looked idly across the courtyard through the open gate on to the main road of the settlement.  It lay empty, straight, and yellow under the flood of light.  In the hot noontide the smooth trunks of palm trees, the outlines of the houses, and away there at the other end of the road the roof of Almayer’s house visible over the bushes on the dark background of forest, seemed to quiver in the heat radiating from the steaming earth.  Swarms of