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lie.”
    He straightened his arm suddenly and flung her across the verandah towards the doorway, where she lay immobile and silent, as if she had left her life in his grasp, a dark heap, without a sound or a stir.
    “Oh!  Nina!” whispered Almayer, in a voice in which reproach and love spoke together in pained tenderness.  “Oh!  Nina!  I do not believe.”
    A light draught from the river ran over the courtyard in a wave of bowing grass and, entering the verandah, touched Almayer’s forehead with its cool breath, in a caress of infinite pity.  The curtain in the women’s doorway blew out and instantly collapsed with startling helplessness.  He stared at the fluttering stuff.
    “Nina!” cried Almayer.  “Where are you, Nina?”
    The wind passed out of the empty house in a tremulous sigh, and all was still.
    Almayer hid his face in his hands as if to shut out a loathsome sight.  When, hearing a slight rustle, he uncovered his eyes, the dark heap by the door was gone.
     

CHAPTER XI.
     
    In the middle of a shadowless square of moonlight, shining on a smooth and level expanse of young rice-shoots, a little shelter-hut perched on high posts, the pile of brushwood near by and the glowing embers of a fire with a man stretched before it, seemed very small and as if lost in the pale green iridescence reflected from the ground.  On three sides of the clearing, appearing very far away in the deceptive light, the big trees of the forest, lashed together with manifold bonds by a mass of tangled creepers, looked down at the growing young life at their feet with the sombre resignation of giants that had lost faith in their strength.  And in the midst of them the merciless creepers clung to the big trunks in cable-like coils, leaped from tree to tree, hung in thorny festoons from the lower boughs, and, sending slender tendrils on high to seek out the smallest branches, carried death to their victims in an exulting riot of silent destruction.
    On the fourth side, following the curve of the bank of that branch of the Pantai that formed the only access to the clearing, ran a black line of young trees, bushes, and thick second growth, unbroken save for a small gap chopped out in one place.  At that gap began the narrow footpath leading from the water’s edge to the grass-built shelter used by the night watchers when the ripening crop had to be protected from the wild pigs.  The pathway ended at the foot of the piles on which the hut was built, in a circular space covered with ashes and bits of burnt wood.  In the middle of that space, by the dim fire, lay Dain.
    He turned over on his side with an impatient sigh, and, pillowing his head on his bent arm, lay quietly with his face to the dying fire.  The glowing embers shone redly in a small circle, throwing a gleam into his wide-open eyes, and at every deep breath the fine white ash of bygone fires rose in a light cloud before his parted lips, and danced away from the warm glow into the moonbeams pouring down upon Bulangi’s clearing.  His body was weary with the exertion of the past few days, his mind more weary still with the strain of solitary waiting for his fate.  Never before had he felt so helpless.  He had heard the report of the gun fired on board the launch, and he knew that his life was in untrustworthy hands, and that his enemies were very near.  During the slow hours of the afternoon he roamed about on the edge of the forest, or, hiding in the bushes, watched the creek with unquiet eyes for some sign of danger.  He feared not death, yet he desired ardently to live, for life to him was Nina.  She had promised to come, to follow him, to share his danger and his splendour.  But with her by his side he cared not for danger, and without her there could be no splendour and no joy in existence.
    Crouching in his shady hiding-place, he closed his eyes, trying to evoke the gracious and charming image of the white figure that for him was the beginning and the end of life.  With eyes shut tight, his teeth hard set, he tried in a great effort of passionate will to keep his hold on that vision of supreme delight.  In vain!  His heart grew heavy as the figure of Nina faded away to be replaced by another vision this time — a vision of armed men, of angry faces, of glittering arms — and he seemed to hear the hum of excited and triumphant voices as they discovered him in his hiding-place.  Startled by the vividness of his fancy, he would open his eyes,