The Pools of Silence

warpling against the starboard plates, whimpering, wimpling, here smooth as glass,

alm-oil, and bales of gum copal, the roar and rattle of steam-winches went across the water, far away across the glittering wa

t, heart-weakening heat, that is the master impression produced by the Congo on the m

Africa in a frank mood. Africa, laying her hand on he

s of vegetation and murderous life; the unutterable loneliness of vast forests. The water brook of the hartbeest and antelope, it brings with it their quiet reflections, just as it brings

Adams. They had arrived only yesterday, and to-morrow they were proceeding by rail to Leopol

ould return

n his chair as the roar and rattle of the winch chains, that had ceased for

an get out of there," answered Berselius, laz

s eyes the sweep of Berselius's hand, "over there"; lit

selius w

tretched across the moving water to the other bank that, under the moonlight, l

off his cigar-ash on the bulwark rail. He was thinking of Max

t hear or might not have heard, yet they had told each other the whol

terious a source, lay between them. Maxine was rich-so rich that the contrast of her wealth with his own poverty shut the door for Adams on the

the social temple by walking between the pillars of the porti

l who trusts in himself; an unpleasant person very of

savagery he would have carried her off in his arms; surrounded as he was by the t

e passion in him. He knew this, yet he did not grumble; for he was

ke houses out of a story by Dean Swift. The wildest dreams of architecture. Yet they don't fal

templating the moonlit river, Maxine

lf in no unfavourable light. Up to t

lf was fixed, a gulf narrow enough to speak across, but of an impenetrable depth. Berselius was always so assured, so impassively calm, so authoritative, his conversation so penetrative, so lit by intuition and acquired knowledge, that Adams sometimes in

where they found waiting for them the Leopold, a