Lingard, leaning on his elbow and staring through the door, recalled
the image of the wide fields outside, sleeping now, in an immensity of
serenity and starlight. This quiet and almost invisible talker had done
it all; in him was the origin, the creation, the fate; and in the
wonder of that thought the shadowy murmuring figure acquired a gigantic
greatness of significance, as if it had been the embodiment of some
natural force, of a force forever masterful and undying.
"And even now my life is unsafe as if I were their enemy," said Belarab,
mournfully. "Eyes do not kill, nor angry words; and curses have no
power, else the Dutch would not grow fat living on our land, and I would
not be alive to-night. Do you understand? Have you seen the men who
fought in the old days? They have not forgotten the times of war. I have
given them homes and quiet hearts and full bellies. I alone. And they
curse my name in the dark, in each other's ears--because they can never
forget."
This man, whose talk had been of war and violence, discovered
unexpectedly a passionate craving for security and peace. No one would
understand him. Some of those who would not understand had died. His
white teeth gleamed cruelly in the dark. But there were others he could
not kill. The fools. He wanted the land and the people in it to be
forgotten as if they had been swallowed by the sea.
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