Tuan should take a follower with him, not
a silly youth, but one who has lived--who has a steady heart--who would
walk close behind watchfully--and quietly. Yes. Quietly and with quick
eyes--like mine--perhaps with a weapon--I know how to strike."
Lingard looked at the wrinkled visage very near his own and into the
peering old eyes. They shone strangely. A tense eagerness was expressed
in the squatting figure leaning out toward him. On the other
side, within reach of his arm, the night stood like a wall
-discouraging--opaque--impenetrable. No help would avail. The darkness
he had to combat was too impalpable to be cleft by a blow--too dense to
be pierced by the eye; yet as if by some enchantment in the words that
made this vain offer of fidelity, it became less overpowering to his
sight, less crushing to his thought. He had a moment of pride which
soothed his heart for the space of two beats. His unreasonable and
misjudged heart, shrinking before the menace of failure, expanded freely
with a sense of generous gratitude. In the threatening dimness of his
emotions this man's offer made a point of clearness, the glimmer of
a torch held aloft in the night. It was priceless, no doubt, but
ineffectual; too small, too far, too solitary. It did not dispel the
mysterious obscurity that had descended upon his fortunes so that his
eyes could no longer see the work of his hands.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245