Chapter 11

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