She moved not. She
had remained like that, still for hours, giving him a waking dream
of rest without end, in an infinity of happiness without sound and
movement, without thought, without joy; but with an infinite ease of
content, like a world-embracing reverie breathing the air of sadness and
scented with love. For hours she had not moved.
"You are the most generous of women," he said. He bent over her. Her
eyes were wide open. Her lips felt cold. It did not shock him. After he
stood up he remained near her. Heat is a consuming thing, but she with
her cold lips seemed to him indestructible--and, perhaps, immortal!
Again he stooped, but this time it was only to kiss the fringe of her
head scarf. Then he turned away to meet the three men, who, coming round
the corner of the hut containing the prisoners, were approaching him
with measured steps. They desired his presence in the Council room.
Belarab was awake.
They also expressed their satisfaction at finding the white man awake,
because Belarab wanted to impart to him information of the greatest
importance. It seemed to Lingard that he had been awake ever since he
could remember. It was as to being alive that he felt not so sure.
He had no doubt of his existence; but was this life--this profound
indifference, this strange contempt for what his eyes could see, this
distaste for words, this unbelief in the importance of things and men?
He tried to regain possession of himself, his old self which had things
to do, words to speak as well as to hear.
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