’When I rose to get back to the house I caught sight of Stein’s drab coat through a gap in the foliage, and very soon at a turn of the path I came upon him walking with the girl.  Her little hand rested on his forearm, and under the broad, flat rim of his Panama hat he bent over her, grey-haired, paternal, with compassionate and chivalrous deference.  I stood aside, but they stopped, facing me.  His gaze was bent on the ground at his feet; the girl, erect and slight on his arm, stared sombrely beyond my shoulder with black, clear, motionless eyes.  “Schrecklich,” he murmured.  “Terrible!  Terrible!  What can one do?” He seemed to be appealing to me, but her youth, the length of the days suspended over her head, appealed to me more; and suddenly, even as I realised that nothing could be said, I found myself pleading his cause for her sake.  “You must forgive him,” I concluded, and my own voice seemed to me muffled, lost in un irresponsive deaf immensity.  “We all want to be forgiven,” I added after a while.

’"What have I done?” she asked with her lips only.

’"You always mistrusted him,” I said.

’"He was like the others,” she pronounced slowly.

’"Not like the others,” I protested, but she continued evenly, without any feeling—­

’"He was false.”  And suddenly Stein broke in.  “No! no! no!  My poor child! . . .”  He patted her hand lying passively on his sleeve.  “No! no!  Not false!  True!  True!  True!” He tried to look into her stony face.  “You don’t understand.  Ach!  Why you do not understand? . . .  Terrible,” he said to me.  “Some day she shall understand.”

’"Will you explain?” I asked, looking hard at him.  They moved on.

’I watched them.  Her gown trailed on the path, her black hair fell loose.  She walked upright and light by the side of the tall man, whose long shapeless coat hung in perpendicular folds from the stooping shoulders, whose feet moved slowly.  They disappeared beyond that spinney (you may remember) where sixteen different kinds of bamboo grow together, all distinguishable to the learned eye.  For my part, I was fascinated by the exquisite grace and beauty of that fluted grove, crowned with pointed leaves and feathery heads, the lightness, the vigour, the charm as distinct as a voice of that unperplexed luxuriating life.  I remember staying to look at it for a long time, as one would linger within reach of a consoling whisper.  The sky was pearly grey.  It was one of those overcast days so rare in the tropics, in which memories crowd upon one, memories of other shores, of other faces.

‘I drove back to town the same afternoon, taking with me Tamb’ Itam and the other Malay, in whose seagoing craft they had escaped in the bewilderment, fear, and gloom of the disaster.  The shock of it seemed to have changed their natures.  It had turned her passion into stone, and it made the surly taciturn Tamb’ Itam almost loquacious.  His surliness, too, was subdued into puzzled humility, as though he had seen the failure of a potent charm in a supreme moment.  The Bugis trader, a shy hesitating man, was very clear in the little he had to say.  Both were evidently over-awed by a sense of deep inexpressible wonder, by the touch of an inscrutable mystery.’