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Chapter 8


Heyst walked away slowly. There was still no light in his bungalow, and
he thought that perhaps it was just as well. By this time he was much
less perturbed. Wang had preceded him with the lantern, as if in a hurry
to get away from the two white men and their hairy attendant. The light
was not dancing along any more; it was standing perfectly still by the
steps of the veranda.

Heyst, glancing back casually, saw behind him still another light--the
light of the strangers' open fire. A black, uncouth form, stooping over
it monstrously, staggered away into the outlying shadows. The kettle had
boiled, probably.

With that weird vision of something questionably human impressed upon
his senses, Heyst moved on a pace or two. What could the people be who
had such a creature for their familiar attendant? He stopped. The vague
apprehension, of a distant future, in which he saw Lena unavoidably
separated from him by profound and subtle differences; the sceptical
carelessness which had accompanied every one of his attempts at action,
like a secret reserve of his soul, fell away from him. He no longer
belonged to himself. There was a call far more imperious and august. He
came up to the bungalow, and at the very limit of the lantern's light,
on the top step, he saw her feet and the bottom part of her dress. The
rest of her person was suggested dimly as high as her waist. She sat
on a chair, and the gloom of the low eaves descended upon her head and
shoulders. She didn't stir.

"You haven't gone to sleep here?" he asked.

"Oh, no! I was waiting for you--in the dark."

Heyst, on the top step, leaned against a wooden pillar, after moving the
lantern to one side.

"I have been thinking that it is just as well you had no light. But
wasn't it dull for you to sit in the dark?"

"I don't need a light to think of you." Her charming voice gave a value
to this banal answer, which had also the merit of truth. Heyst laughed
a little, and said that he had had a curios experience. She made no
remark. He tried to figure to himself the outlines of her easy pose.
A spot of dim light here and there hinted at the unfailing grace of
attitude which was one of her natural possessions.

She had thought of him, but not in connection with the strangers. She
had admired him from the first; she had been attracted by his warm
voice, his gentle eye, but she had felt him too wonderfully difficult to
know. He had given to life a savour, a movement, a promise mingled with
menaces, which she had not suspected were to be found in it--or, at any
rate, not by a girl wedded to misery as she was. She said to herself
that she must not be irritated because he seemed too self-contained, and
as if shut up in a world of his own. When he took her in his arms, she
felt that his embrace had a great and compelling force, that he was
moved deeply, and that perhaps he would not get tired of her so very
soon. She thought that he had opened to her the feelings of delicate
joy, that the very uneasiness he caused her was delicious in its
sadness, and that she would try to hold him as long as she could--till
her fainting arms, her sinking soul, could cling to him no more.

"Wang's not here, of course?" Heyst said suddenly. She answered as if in
her sleep.

"He put this light down here without stopping, and ran."

"Ran, did he? H'm! Well, it's considerably later than his usual time
to go home to his Alfuro wife; but to be seen running is a sort of
degradation for Wang, who has mastered the art of vanishing. Do you
think he was startled out of his perfection by something?"

"Why should he be startled?"

Her voice remained dreamy, a little uncertain.

"I have been startled," Heyst said.

She was not listening to him. The lantern at their feet threw the
shadows of her face upward. Her eyes glistened, as if frightened and
attentive, above a lighted chin and a very white throat.

"Upon my word," mused Heyst, "now that I don't see them, I can hardly
believe that those fellows exist!"

"And what about me?" she asked, so swiftly that he made a movement like
somebody pounced upon from an ambush. "When you don't see me, do you
believe that I exist?"

"Exist? Most charmingly! My dear Lena, you don't know your own
advantages. Why, your voice alone would be enough to make you
unforgettable!"

"Oh, I didn't mean forgetting in that way. I dare say if I were to
die you would remember me right enough. And what good would that be to
anybody? It's while I am alive that I want--"

Heyst stood by her chair, a stalwart figure imperfectly lighted. The
broad shoulders, the martial face that was like a disguise of his
disarmed soul, were lost in the gloom above the plane of light in which
his feet were planted. He suffered from a trouble with which she had
nothing to do. She had no general conception of the conditions of the
existence he had offered to her. Drawn into its peculiar stagnation she
remained unrelated to it because of her ignorance.

For instance, she could never perceive the prodigious improbability of
the arrival of that boat. She did not seem to be thinking of it. Perhaps
she had already forgotten the fact herself. And Heyst resolved suddenly
to say nothing more of it. It was not that he shrank from alarming her.
Not feeling anything definite himself he could not imagine a precise
effect being produced on her by any amount of explanation. There is a
quality in events which is apprehended differently by different minds
or even by the same mind at different times. Any man living at all
consciously knows that embarrassing truth. Heyst was aware that this
visit could bode nothing pleasant. In his present soured temper
towards all mankind he looked upon it as a visitation of a particularly
offensive kind.

He glanced along the veranda in the direction of the other bungalow. The
fire of sticks in front of it had gone out. No faint glow of embers, not
the slightest thread of light in that direction, hinted at the presence
of strangers. The darker shapes in the obscurity, the dead silence,
betrayed nothing of that strange intrusion. The peace of Samburan
asserted itself as on any other night. Everything was as before,
except--Heyst became aware of it suddenly--that for a whole minute,
perhaps, with his hand on the back of the girl's chair and within a foot
of her person, he had lost the sense of her existence, for the first
time since he had brought her over to share this invincible, this
undefiled peace. He picked up the lantern, and the act made a silent
stir all along the veranda. A spoke of shadow swung swiftly across her
face, and the strong light rested on the immobility of her features, as
of a woman looking at a vision. Her eyes were still, her lips serious.
Her dress, open at the neck, stirred slightly to her even breathing.

"We had better go in, Lena," suggested Heyst, very low, as if breaking a
spell cautiously.

She rose without a word. Heyst followed her indoors. As they passed
through the living-room, he left the lantern burning on the centre
table.


Joseph Conrad