“I’m glad you’ve come back. I got no letter from you; I only knew from the Germans who came through a week ago.” Swanson had suddenly the air of a child who has forgotten the poem that he was to recite before a whole audience of people. He was aware, in his dull way, that he had blundered.
Philip said quickly, “I’m not coming back to work ... at least not as a missionary. That’s all finished.”
“We never get any news out here,” said Swanson humbly. “I didn’t know.”
“Are you alone?”
“No ... there’s a new man. Murchison ... he’s a preacher. He’s doing Naomi’s work.”
(Naomi! Naomi! Naomi!)
“Let’s go on now,” said Philip. He shouted at the bearers an order to march, and as they walked, Philip said, “We passed a train of bearers in the distance yesterday ... over beyond the Rocks of Kami. Who was it?”
For a moment Swanson was silent. He scratched his head. “Oh, that ... that ... it must have been that queer Englishwoman’s train ... going back alone.”
They were entering the borders of the real forest, where the moist earth was covered by a tangle of vines and a pattern of light and dark. Philip asked, “Why ... alone?”