ce of a woman who ravishes the hearts
and silences the reason of men. She was all mine, and no one could see
her--no one of living mankind! Stars shone through her bosom, through
her floating hair. I was overcome with regret, with tenderness, with
sorrow. Matara slept . . . Had I slept? Matara was shaking me by the
shoulder, and the fire of the sun was drying the grass, the bushes, the
leaves. It was day. Shreds of white mist hung between the branches of
trees.

"Was it night or day? I saw nothing again till I heard Matara breathe
quickly where he lay, and then outside the house I saw her. I saw them
both. They had come out. She sat on a bench under the wall, and twigs
laden with flowers crept high above her head, hung over her hair. She
had a box on her lap, and gazed into it, counting the increase of her
pearls. The Dutchman stood by looking on; he smiled down at her; his
white teeth flashed; the hair on his lip was like two twisted flames.
He was big and fat, and joyous, and without fear. Matara tipped
fresh priming from the hollow of his palm, scraped the flint with his
thumb-nail, and gave the gun to me. To me! I took it . . . O fate!

"He whispered into my ear, lying on his stomach, 'I shall creep close
and then amok . . . let her die by my hand. You take aim at the
fat swine there. Let him see me strike my shame off the face of the
earth--and then . . . you are my friend--kill with a sure shot.' I said
nothing; there was no air in my chest--there was no air in the world.
Matara had gone suddenly from my side. The grass nodded. Then a bush
rustled. She lifted her head.

"I saw her! The consoler of sleepless nights, of weary days; the
companion of troubled years! I saw her! She looked straight at the place
where I crouched. She was there as I had seen her for years--a faithful
wanderer by my side. She looked with sad eyes and had smiling lips; she
looked at me . . . Smiling lips! Had I not promised that she should not
die!

"She was far off and I felt her near. Her touch caressed me, and
her voice murmured, whispered above me, around me. 'Who shall be thy
companion, who shall console thee if I die?' I saw a flowering thicket
to the left of her stir a little . . . Matara was ready . . . I cried
aloud--'Return!'

"She leaped up; the box fell; the pearls streamed at her feet. The big
Dutchman by her side rolled menacing eyes through the still sunshine.
The gun went up to my shoulder. I was kneeling and I was fir