“Six months later Davidson came into the Mirrah Settlement.  It was the very first time he had been up that creek, where no European vessel had ever been seen before.  A Javanese passenger he had on board offered him fifty dollars to call in there—­it must have been some very particular business—­and Davidson consented to try.  Fifty dollars, he told me, were neither here nor there; but he was curious to see the place, and the little Sissie could go anywhere where there was water enough to float a soup-plate.

“Davidson landed his Javanese plutocrat, and, as he had to wait a couple of hours for the tide, he went ashore himself to stretch his legs.

“It was a small settlement.  Some sixty houses, most of them built on piles over the river, the rest scattered in the long grass; the usual pathway at the back; the forest hemming in the clearing and smothering what there might have been of air into a dead, hot stagnation.

“All the population was on the river-bank staring silently, as Malays will do, at the Sissie anchored in the stream.  She was almost as wonderful to them as an angel’s visit.  Many of the old people had only heard vaguely of fire-ships, and not many of the younger generation had seen one.  On the back path Davidson strolled in perfect solitude.  But he became aware of a bad smell and concluded he would go no farther.

“While he stood wiping his forehead, he heard from somewhere the exclamation:  ‘My God!  It’s Davy!’

“Davidson’s lower jaw, as he expressed it, came unhooked at the crying of this excited voice.  Davy was the name used by the associates of his young days; he hadn’t heard it for many years.  He stared about with his mouth open and saw a white woman issue from the long grass in which a small hut stood buried nearly up to the roof.

“Try to imagine the shock:  in that wild place that you couldn’t find on a map, and more squalid than the most poverty-stricken Malay settlement had a right to be, this European woman coming swishing out of the long grass in a fanciful tea-gown thing, dingy pink satin, with a long train and frayed lace trimmings; her eyes like black coals in a pasty-white face.  Davidson thought that he was asleep, that he was delirious.  From the offensive village mudhole (it was what Davidson had sniffed just before) a couple of filthy buffaloes uprose with loud snorts and lumbered off crashing through the bushes, panic-struck by this apparition.

“The woman came forward, her arms extended, and laid her hands on Davidson’s shoulders, exclaiming:  ’Why!  You have hardly changed at all.  The same good Davy.’  And she laughed a little wildly.

“This sound was to Davidson like a galvanic shock to a corpse.  He started in every muscle.  ‘Laughing Anne,’ he said in an awe-struck voice.

“‘All that’s left of her, Davy.  All that’s left of her.’