’Then Jim understood.  He had retreated from one world, for a small matter of an impulsive jump, and now the other, the work of his own hands, had fallen in ruins upon his head.  It was not safe for his servant to go out amongst his own people!  I believe that in that very moment he had decided to defy the disaster in the only way it occurred to him such a disaster could be defied; but all I know is that, without a word, he came out of his room and sat before the long table, at the head of which he was accustomed to regulate the affairs of his world, proclaiming daily the truth that surely lived in his heart.  The dark powers should not rob him twice of his peace.  He sat like a stone figure.  Tamb’ Itam, deferential, hinted at preparations for defence.  The girl he loved came in and spoke to him, but he made a sign with his hand, and she was awed by the dumb appeal for silence in it.  She went out on the verandah and sat on the threshold, as if to guard him with her body from dangers outside.

’What thoughts passed through his head—­what memories?  Who can tell?  Everything was gone, and he who had been once unfaithful to his trust had lost again all men’s confidence.  It was then, I believe, he tried to write—­to somebody—­and gave it up.  Loneliness was closing on him.  People had trusted him with their lives—­only for that; and yet they could never, as he had said, never be made to understand him.  Those without did not hear him make a sound.  Later, towards the evening, he came to the door and called for Tamb’ Itam.  “Well?” he asked.  “There is much weeping.  Much anger too,” said Tamb’ Itam.  Jim looked up at him.  “You know,” he murmured.  “Yes, Tuan,” said Tamb’ Itam.  “Thy servant does know, and the gates are closed.  We shall have to fight.”  “Fight!  What for?” he asked.  “For our lives.”  “I have no life,” he said.  Tamb’ Itam heard a cry from the girl at the door.  “Who knows?” said Tamb’ Itam.  “By audacity and cunning we may even escape.  There is much fear in men’s hearts too.”  He went out, thinking vaguely of boats and of open sea, leaving Jim and the girl together.

’I haven’t the heart to set down here such glimpses as she had given me of the hour or more she passed in there wrestling with him for the possession of her happiness.  Whether he had any hope—­what he expected, what he imagined—­it is impossible to say.  He was inflexible, and with the growing loneliness of his obstinacy his spirit seemed to rise above the ruins of his existence.  She cried “Fight!” into his ear.  She could not understand.  There was nothing to fight for.  He was going to prove his power in another way and conquer the fatal destiny itself.  He came out into the courtyard, and behind him, with streaming hair, wild of face, breathless, she staggered out and leaned on the side of the doorway.  “Open the gates,” he ordered.  Afterwards, turning to those of his men who were inside, he gave them leave to depart to their homes.  “For how long, Tuan?” asked one of them timidly.  “For all life,” he said, in a sombre tone.