"To-morrow," Trent said curtly. "No more now! I haven't got over
my miserable journey yet. I'm going to try and get some sleep."

He swung out into the heavy darkness. The air was thick with
unwholesome odours rising from the lake-like swamp beyond the
drooping circle of trees. He walked a little way towards the sea,
and sat down upon a log. A faint land-breeze was blowing, a
melancholy soughing came from the edge of the forest only a few
hundred yards back, sullen, black, impenetrable. He turned his
face inland unwillingly, with a superstitious little thrill of
fear. Was it a coyote calling, or had he indeed heard the moan
of a dying man, somewhere back amongst that dark, gloomy jungle?
He scoffed at himself! Was he becoming as a girl, weak and timid?
Yet a moment later he closed his eyes, and pressed his hands tightly
over his hot eyeballs. He was a man of little imaginative force,
yet the white face of a dying man seemed suddenly to have floated
up out of the darkness, to have come to him like a will-o'-the-wisp
from the swamp, and the hollow, lifeless eyes seemed ever to be
seeking his, mournful and eloquent with dull reproach. Trent rose
to his feet with an oath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He
was trembling, and he cursed himself heartily.

"Another fool's hour like this," he muttered, "and the fever will
have me. Come out of the shadows, you white-faced, skulking reptile,
you - bah! what a blithering fool I am! There is no one there!
How could there be any one?"

He listened intently. From afar off came the faint moaning of the
wind in the forest and the night sounds of restless animals. Nearer
there was no one - nothing stirred. He laughed out loud and moved