desires--out of the temple of self and the concentration of personal
thought.

His thoughts now wandered home. Standing in the tepid stillness of a
starry tropical night he felt the breath of the bitter east wind, he saw
the high and narrow fronts of tall houses under the gloom of a clouded
sky; and on muddy quays he saw the shabby, high-shouldered figure--the
patient, faded face of the weary man earning bread for the children
that waited for him in a dingy home. It was miserable, miserable. But it
would never come back. What was there in common between those things and
Willems the clever, Willems the successful. He had cut himself adrift
from that home many years ago. Better for him then. Better for them now.
All this was gone, never to come back again; and suddenly he shivered,
seeing himself alone in the presence of unknown and terrible dangers.

For the first time in his life he felt afraid of the future, because he
had lost his faith, the faith in his own success. And he had destroyed
it foolishly with his own hands!



CHAPTER FOUR


His meditation which resembled slow drifting into suicide was
interrupted by Lingard, who, with a loud "I've got you at last!" dropped
his hand heavily on Willems' shoulder. This time it was the old seaman
himself going out of his way to pick up the uninteresting waif--all
that there was left of that sudden and sordid shipwreck. To Willems,
the rough, friendly voice was a quick and fleeting relief followed by a