Now, when the danger was past, why should she
grieve? He doubted her love no more than he would have doubted the fact
of his own existence, but as he lay looking ardently in her face,
watching her tears, her parted lips, her very breath, he was uneasily
conscious of something in her he could not understand. Doubtless she had
the wisdom of perfect beings. He sighed. He felt something invisible
that stood between them, something that would let him approach her so
far, but no farther. No desire, no longing, no effort of will or length
of life could destroy this vague feeling of their difference. With awe
but also with great pride he concluded that it was her own incomparable
perfection. She was his, and yet she was like a woman from another
world. His! His! He exulted in the glorious thought; nevertheless her
tears pained him.
With a wisp of her own hair which he took in his hand with timid
reverence he tried in an access of clumsy tenderness to dry the tears
that trembled on her eyelashes. He had his reward in a fleeting smile
that brightened her face for the short fraction of a second, but soon the
tears fell faster than ever, and he could bear it no more. He rose and
walked towards Almayer, who still sat absorbed in his contemplation of
the sea.
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