They crossed the open
in a direct line for the bungalow. On the veranda they fancied they had
a glimpse of the vanishing Wang, though the girl was not at all sure
that she had seen anything move. Heyst had no doubts.
"Wang has been looking out for us. We are late."
"Was he? I thought I saw something white for a moment, and then I did
not see it any more."
"That's it--he vanishes. It's a very remarkable gift in that Chinaman."
"Are they all like that?" she asked with naive curiosity and uneasiness.
"Not in such perfection," said Heyst, amused.
He noticed with approval that she was not heated by the walk. The drops
of perspiration on her forehead were like dew on the cool, white petal
of a flower. He looked at her figure of grace and strength, solid and
supple, with an ever-growing appreciation.
"Go in and rest yourself for a quarter of an hour; and then Mr. Wang
will give us something to eat," he said.
They had found the table laid. When they came together again and sat
down to it, Wang materialized without a sound, unheard, uncalled, and
did his office. Which being accomplished, at a given moment he was not.
A great silence brooded over Samburan--the silence of the great heat
that seems pregnant with fatal issues, like the silence of ardent
thought. Heyst remained alone in the big room. The girl seeing him
take up a book, had retreated to her chamber.
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