"
Lingard laughed low and then looked earnestly at the serang. Above their
heads a man shook a flare over the side and a thin shower of sparks
floated downward and expired before touching the water.
"So you can see in the night, O serang! Well, then, look and speak.
Speak! Fight--or no fight? Weapons or words? Which folly? Well, what do
you see?"
"A darkness, a darkness," whispered Wasub at last in a frightened tone.
"There are nights--" He shook his head and muttered. "Look. The tide has
turned. Ya, Tuan. The tide has turned."
Lingard looked downward where the water could be seen, gliding past the
ship's side, moving smoothly, streaked with lines of froth, across the
illumined circle thrown round the brig by the lights on her poop.
Air bubbles sparkled, lines of darkness, ripples of glitter appeared,
glided, went astern without a splash, without a trickle, without a
plaint, without a break. The unchecked gentleness of the flow captured
the eye by a subtle spell, fastened insidiously upon the mind a
disturbing sense of the irretrievable. The ebbing of the sea athwart the
lonely sheen of flames resembled the eternal ebb-tide of time; and when
at last Lingard looked up, the knowledge of that noiseless passage of
the waters produced on his mind a bewildering effect.
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