“Pardon me,” he said, “I was dreaming of the days that are gone.  Ah!  Nigel; you are yet too young to understand the feelings of the old—­the sad memories of happy years that can never return:  of voices that are hushed for ever.  No one can know till he has felt!”

“But you are not old,” said Nigel, wishing to turn the hermit’s mind from a subject on which it seemed to dwell too constantly.

“Not in years,” he returned; “but old, very old in experience, and—­stay, what was it that you were asking about?  Ah, the big game.  Well, we have plenty of that in some of the larger of the islands; we have the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, the puma, that great man-monkey the orang-utan, or, as it is called here, the mias, besides wild pigs, deer, and innumerable smaller animals and birds—­”

The hermit stopped abruptly and sat motionless, with his head bent on one side, like one who listens intently.  Such an action is always infectious.  Nigel and the negro also listened, but heard nothing.

By that time the fire had died down, and, not being required for warmth, had not been replenished.  The faint light of the coming moon, which, however, was not yet above the horizon, only seemed to render darkness visible, so that the figure of Moses was quite lost in the shadow of the bush behind him, though the whites of his solemn eyes appeared like two glow-worms.

“Do you hear anything?” asked Nigel in a low tone.

“Oars,” answered the hermit.

“I hear ’im, massa,” whispered the negro, “but das not su’prisin’—­plenty boats about.”

“This boat approaches the island, and I can tell by the sound that it is a large prau.  If it touches here it will be for the purpose of spending the night, and Malay boatmen are not always agreeable neighbours.  However, it is not likely they will ramble far from where they land, so we may escape observation if we keep quiet.”

As he spoke he emptied the remains of the coffee on the dying fire and effectually put it out.

Meanwhile the sound of oars had become quite distinct, and, as had been anticipated, the crew ran their boat into one of the sandy bays and leaped ashore with a good deal of shouting and noise.  Fortunately they had landed on the opposite side of the islet, and as the bush on it was very dense there was not much probability of any one crossing over.  Our voyagers therefore lay close, resolving to be off in the morning before the unwelcome visitors were stirring.

As the three lay there wrapped in their blankets and gazing contemplatively at the now risen moon, voices were heard as if of men approaching.  It was soon found that two of the strangers had sauntered round by the beach and were slowly drawing near the encampment.

Nigel observed that the hermit had raised himself on one elbow and seemed to be again listening intently.

The two men halted on reaching the top of the ridges of rock which formed one side of the little bay, and their voices became audible though too far distant to admit of words being distinguishable.  At the same time their forms were clearly defined against the sky.