There
was no sign that man had been there since the making of the world.
He dropped down the stream again, thoughtfully and sadly. How many
years ago was it that he had passed this river's mouth? Three days.
And yet how much had passed in them! Don Guzman found and lost--Rose
found and lost--a great victory gained, and yet lost--perhaps his ship
lost--above all, his brother lost.
Lost! O God, how should he find his brother?
Some strange bird out of the woods made mournful answer--"Never, never,
never!"
How should he face his mother?
"Never, never, never!" walled the bird again; and Amyas smiled
bitterly, and said "Never!" likewise.
The night mist began to steam and wreath upon the foul beer-colored
stream. The loathy floor of liquid mud lay bare beneath the mangrove
forest. Upon the endless web of interarching roots great purple crabs
were crawling up and down. They would have supped with pleasure upon
Amyas's corpse; perhaps they might sup on him after all; for a heavy
sickening graveyard smell made his heart sink within him, and his
stomach heave; and his weary body, and more weary soul, gave themselves
up helplessly to the depressing influence of that doleful place.
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