and stand behind his chair till he wanted to rise, when he would turn his head slowly, as if with difficulty, to the right and to the left, and then they would catch him under his armpits and help him up.  For all that, there was nothing of a cripple about him:  on the contrary, all his ponderous movements were like manifestations of a mighty deliberate force.  It was generally believed he consulted his wife as to public affairs; but nobody, as far as I know, had ever heard them exchange a single word.  When they sat in state by the wide opening it was in silence.  They could see below them in the declining light the vast expanse of the forest country, a dark sleeping sea of sombre green undulating as far as the violet and purple range of mountains; the shining sinuosity of the river like an immense letter S of beaten silver; the brown ribbon of houses following the sweep of both banks, overtopped by the twin hills uprising above the nearer tree-tops.  They were wonderfully contrasted:  she, light, delicate, spare, quick, a little witch-like, with a touch of motherly fussiness in her repose; he, facing her, immense and heavy, like a figure of a man roughly fashioned of stone, with something magnanimous and ruthless in his immobility.  The son of these old people was a most distinguished youth.

’They had him late in life.  Perhaps he was not really so young as he looked.  Four- or five-and-twenty is not so young when a man is already father of a family at eighteen.  When he entered the large room, lined and carpeted with fine mats, and with a high ceiling of white sheeting, where the couple sat in state surrounded by a most deferential retinue, he would make his way straight to Doramin, to kiss his hand—­which the other abandoned to him, majestically—­and then would step across to stand by his mother’s chair.  I suppose I may say they idolised him, but I never caught them giving him an overt glance.  Those, it is true, were public functions.  The room was generally thronged.  The solemn formality of greetings and leave-takings, the profound respect expressed in gestures, on the faces, in the low whispers, is simply indescribable.  “It’s well worth seeing,” Jim had assured me while we were crossing the river, on our way back.  “They are like people in a book, aren’t they?” he said triumphantly.  “And Dain Waris—­their son—­is the best friend (barring you) I ever had.  What Mr. Stein would call a good ‘war-comrade.’  I was in luck.  Jove!  I was in luck when I tumbled amongst them at my last gasp.”  He meditated with bowed head, then rousing himself he added—­’"Of course I didn’t go to sleep over it, but . . .”  He paused again.  “It seemed to come to me,” he murmured.  “All at once I saw what I had to do . . .”