For a moment it seemed to him as though his feet were too heavy to
lift and then, hands in pockets, khaki-clad, an almost invisible
figure, he strolled towards the cart-track.

Come to that, he halted for a moment to regard the distant fires of
the men. No one would miss him. They would think he was in his
tent. He faced the stirring quiet ahead. The cart-track was a
rutted path of soft, warm sand, on which he went almost noiselessly.
A bird squabbled for an instant in a thicket. A great white owl
floated like a flake of moonlight across the track and vanished
without a sound among the trees.

Along the moonlit path went Benham, and when he passed near trees
his footsteps became noisy with the rustle and crash of dead leaves.
The jungle was full of moonlight; twigs, branches, creepers, grass-
clumps came out acutely vivid. The trees and bushes stood in pools
of darkness, and beyond were pale stretches of misty moonshine and
big rocks shining with an unearthly lustre. Things seemed to be
clear and yet uncertain. It was as if they dissolved or retired a
little and then returned to solidity.

A sudden chattering broke out overhead, and black across the great
stars soared a flying squirrel and caught a twig, and ran for
shelter. A second hesitated in a tree-top and pursued. They chased
each other and vanished abruptly. He forgot his sense of insecurity
in the interest of these active little silhouettes. And he noted
how much bigger and more wonderful the stars can look when one sees
them through interlacing branches.