“Tuan, I loved my brother.”

A breath of wind made him shiver.  High above his head, high above the silent sea of mist the drooping leaves of the palms rattled together with a mournful and expiring sound.  The white man stretched his legs.  His chin rested on his chest, and he murmured sadly without lifting his head—­

“We all love our brothers.”

Arsat burst out with an intense whispering violence—­

“What did I care who died?  I wanted peace in my own heart.”

He seemed to hear a stir in the house—­listened—­then stepped in noiselessly.  The white man stood up.  A breeze was coming in fitful puffs.  The stars shone paler as if they had retreated into the frozen depths of immense space.  After a chill gust of wind there were a few seconds of perfect calm and absolute silence.  Then from behind the black and wavy line of the forests a column of golden light shot up into the heavens and spread over the semicircle of the eastern horizon.  The sun had risen.  The mist lifted, broke into drifting patches, vanished into thin flying wreaths; and the unveiled lagoon lay, polished and black, in the heavy shadows at the foot of the wall of trees.  A white eagle rose over it with a slanting and ponderous flight, reached the clear sunshine and appeared dazzlingly brilliant for a moment, then soaring higher, became a dark and motionless speck before it vanished into the blue as if it had left the earth forever.  The white man, standing gazing upwards before the doorway, heard in the hut a confused and broken murmur of distracted words ending with a loud groan.  Suddenly Arsat stumbled out with outstretched hands, shivered, and stood still for some time with fixed eyes.  Then he said—­

“She burns no more.”

Before his face the sun showed its edge above the tree-tops rising steadily.  The breeze freshened; a great brilliance burst upon the lagoon, sparkled on the rippling water.  The forests came out of the clear shadows of the morning, became distinct, as if they had rushed nearer—­to stop short in a great stir of leaves, of nodding boughs, of swaying branches.  In the merciless sunshine the whisper of unconscious life grew louder, speaking in an incomprehensible voice round the dumb darkness of that human sorrow.  Arsat’s eyes wandered slowly, then stared at the rising sun.

“I can see nothing,” he said half aloud to himself.

“There is nothing,” said the white man, moving to the edge of the platform and waving his hand to his boat.  A shout came faintly over the lagoon and the sampan began to glide towards the abode of the friend of ghosts.

“If you want to come with me, I will wait all the morning,” said the white man, looking away upon the water.

“No, Tuan,” said Arsat, softly.  “I shall not eat or sleep in this house, but I must first see my road.  Now I can see nothing—­see nothing!  There is no light and no peace in the world; but there is death—­death for many.  We are sons of the same mother—­and I left him in the midst of enemies; but I am going back now.”