--"I cannot get rid of the horrible nightmare yet.--I have been
very drunk.--What is that shaking me? I am dreaming yet--I must open my
eyes and be done with it. I am only half awake, it is evident."
He made an effort to shake off his stupor and saw a face close to his,
glaring at him with staring eyeballs. He closed his eyes again in amazed
horror and sat up straight in the chair, trembling in every limb. What
was this apparition?--His own fancy, no doubt.--His nerves had been much
tried the day before--and then the drink! He would not see it again if
he had the courage to look.--He would look directly.--Get a little
steadier first.--So.--Now.
He looked. The figure of a woman standing in the steely light, her hands
stretched forth in a suppliant gesture, confronted him from the far-off
end of the verandah; and in the space between him and the obstinate
phantom floated the murmur of words that fell on his ears in a jumble of
torturing sentences, the meaning of which escaped the utmost efforts of
his brain. Who spoke the Malay words? Who ran away? Why too late--and
too late for what? What meant those words of hate and love mixed so
strangely together, the ever-recurring names falling on his ears again
and again--Nina, Dain; Dain, Nina? Dain was dead, and Nina was sleeping,
unaware of the terrible experience through which he was now passing.
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