She became aware suddenly of a soft murmur, and glancing at Lingard she saw him in an attitude of impassive attention.  The momentous negotiations had begun, and it went on like this in low undertones with long pauses and in the immobility of all the attendants squatting on the ground, with the distant figure of Daman far off in the shade towering over all the assembly.  But in him, too, Mrs. Travers could not detect the slightest movement while the slightly modulated murmurs went on enveloping her in a feeling of peace.

The fact that she couldn’t understand anything of what was said soothed her apprehensions.  Sometimes a silence fell and Lingard bending toward her would whisper, “It isn’t so easy,” and the stillness would be so perfect that she would hear the flutter of a pigeon’s wing somewhere high up in the great overshadowing trees.  And suddenly one of the men before her without moving a limb would begin another speech rendered more mysterious still by the total absence of action or play of feature.  Only the watchfulness of the eyes which showed that the speaker was not communing with himself made it clear that this was not a spoken meditation but a flow of argument directed to Lingard who now and then uttered a few words either with a grave or a smiling expression.  They were always followed by murmurs which seemed mostly to her to convey assent; and then a reflective silence would reign again and the immobility of the crowd would appear more perfect than before.

When Lingard whispered to her that it was now his turn to make a speech Mrs. Travers expected him to get up and assert himself by some commanding gesture.  But he did not.  He remained seated, only his voice had a vibrating quality though he obviously tried to restrain it, and it travelled masterfully far into the silence.  He spoke for a long time while the sun climbing the unstained sky shifted the diminished shadows of the trees, pouring on the heads of men its heat through the thick and motionless foliage.  Whenever murmurs arose he would stop and glancing fearlessly at the assembly, wait till they subsided.  Once or twice, they rose to a loud hum and Mrs. Travers could hear on the other side of her Jorgenson muttering something in his moustache.  Beyond the rows of heads Daman under the tree had folded his arms on his breast.  The edge of the white cloth concealed his forehead and at his feet the two Illanun chiefs, half naked and bedecked with charms and ornaments of bright feathers, of shells, with necklaces of teeth, claws, and shining beads, remained cross-legged with their swords across their knees like two bronze idols.  Even the plumes of their head-dresses stirred not.