* * * * *
The crowd massed in a semicircle before the steps of "Almayer's Folly,"
swayed silently backwards and forwards, and opened out before the group
of white-robed and turbaned men advancing through the grass towards the
house. Abdulla walked first, supported by Reshid and followed by all the
Arabs in Sambir. As they entered the lane made by the respectful throng
there was a subdued murmur of voices, where the word "Mati" was the only
one distinctly audible. Abdulla stopped and looked round slowly.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
"May you live!" answered the crowd in one shout, and then there succeeded
a breathless silence.
Abdulla made a few paces forward and found himself for the last time face
to face with his old enemy. Whatever he might have been once he was not
dangerous now, lying stiff and lifeless in the tender light of the early
day. The only white man on the east coast was dead, and his soul,
delivered from the trammels of his earthly folly, stood now in the
presence of Infinite Wisdom. On the upturned face there was that serene
look which follows the sudden relief from anguish and pain, and it
testified silently before the cloudless heaven that the man lying there
under the gaze of indifferent eyes had been permitted to forget before he
died.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283