He resisted the impulse to join those two, dominate the tumult, let it roll away from under his feet—­the mere life of men, vain like a dream and interfering with the tremendous sense of his own existence.  He resisted it, he could hardly have told why.  Even the sense of self-preservation had abandoned him.  There was a throng of people pressing close about him yet careful not to get in his way.  Surprise, concern, doubt were depicted on all those faces; but there were some who observed that the great white man making his way to the lagoon side of the stockade wore a fixed smile.  He asked at large: 

“Can one see any distance over the water?”

One of Belarab’s headmen who was nearest to him answered: 

“The mist has thickened.  If you see anything, Tuan, it will be but a shadow of things.”

The four sides of the stockade had been manned by that time.  Lingard, ascending the banquette, looked out and saw the lagoon shrouded in white, without as much as a shadow on it, and so still that not even the sound of water lapping the shore reached his ears.  He found himself in profound accord with this blind and soundless peace.

“Has anything at all been seen?” he asked incredulously.

Four men were produced at once who had seen a dark mass of boats moving in the light of the dawn.  Others were sent for.  He hardly listened to them.  His thought escaped him and he stood motionless, looking out into the unstirring mist pervaded by the perfect silence.  Presently Belarab joined him, escorted by three grave, swarthy men, himself dark-faced, stroking his short grey beard with impenetrable composure.  He said to Lingard, “Your white man doesn’t fight,” to which Lingard answered, “There is nothing to fight against.  What your people have seen, Belarab, were indeed but shadows on the water.”  Belarab murmured, “You ought to have allowed me to make friends with Daman last night.”

A faint uneasiness was stealing into Lingard’s breast.

A moment later d’Alcacer came up, inconspicuously watched over by two men with lances, and to his anxious inquiry Lingard said:  “I don’t think there is anything going on.  Listen how still everything is.  The only way of bringing the matter to a test would be to persuade Belarab to let his men march out and make an attack on Tengga’s stronghold this moment.  Then we would learn something.  But I couldn’t persuade Belarab to march out into this fog.  Indeed, an expedition like this might end badly.  I myself don’t believe that all Tengga’s people are on the lagoon. . . .  Where is Mrs. Travers?”

The question made d’Alcacer start by its abruptness which revealed the woman’s possession of that man’s mind.  “She is with Don Martin, who is better but feels very weak.  If we are to be given up, he will have to be carried out to his fate.  I can depict to myself the scene.  Don Martin carried shoulder high surrounded by those barbarians with spears, and Mrs. Travers with myself walking on each side of the stretcher.  Mrs. Travers has declared to me her intention to go out with us.”