Heart of Darkness and The Secret Sharer by Joseph Conrad

into the water so as to avoid a splash—you know. It could be heard and cause some beastly complication.’’
    He kept silent for a while, then whispered, ‘‘I understand.’’
    â€˜â€˜I won’t be there to see you go,’’ I began with an effort. ‘‘The rest . . . I only hope I have understood, too.’’
    â€˜â€˜You have. From first to last’’—and for the first time there seemed to be a faltering, something strained in his whisper. He caught hold of my arm, but the ringing of the supper bell made me start. He didn’t though; he only released his grip.
    After supper I didn’t come below again till well past eight o’clock. The faint, steady breeze was loaded with dew; and the wet, darkened sails held all there was of propelling power in it. The night, clear and starry, sparkled darkly, and the opaque, lightless patches shifting slowly against the low stars were the drifting islets. On the port bow there was a big one more distant and shadowily imposing by the great space of sky it eclipsed.
    On opening the door I had a back view of my very own self looking at a chart. He had come out of the recess and was standing near the table.
    â€˜â€˜Quite dark enough,’’ I whispered.
    He stepped back and leaned against my bed with a level, quiet glance. I sat on the couch. We had nothing to say to each other. Over our heads the officer of the watch moved here and there. Then I heard him move quickly. I knew what that meant. He was making for the companion; and presently his voice was outside my door.
    â€˜â€˜We are drawing in pretty fast, sir. Land looks rather close.’’
    â€˜â€˜Very well,’’ I answered. ‘‘I am coming on deck directly.’’
    I waited till he was gone out of the cuddy, then rose. My double moved too. The time had come to exchange our last whispers, for neither of us was ever to hear each other’s natural voice.
    â€˜â€˜Look here!’’ I opened a drawer and took out three sovereigns. ‘‘Take this anyhow. I’ve got six and I’d give you the lot, only I must keep a little money to buy some fruit and vegetables for the crew from native boats as we go through Sunda Straits.’’
    He shook his head.
    â€˜â€˜Take it,’’ I urged him, whispering desperately. ‘‘No one can tell what——’’
    He smiled and slapped meaningly the only pocket of the sleeping jacket. It was not safe, certainly. But I produced a large old silk handkerchief of mine, and tying the three pieces of gold in a corner, pressed it on him. He was touched, I supposed, because he took it at last and tied it quickly round his waist under the jacket, on his bare skin.
    Our eyes met; several seconds elapsed, till, our glances still mingled, I extended my hand and turned the lamp out. Then I passed through the cuddy, leaving the door of my room wide open. . . . ‘‘Steward!’’
    He was still lingering in the pantry in the greatness of his zeal, giving a rub-up to a plated cruet stand the last thing before going to bed. Being careful not to wake up the mate, whose room was opposite, I spoke in an undertone.
    He looked round anxiously. ‘‘Sir!’’
    â€˜â€˜Can you get me a little hot water from the galley?’’
    â€˜â€˜I am afraid, sir, the galley fire’s been out for some time now.’’
    â€˜â€˜Go and see.’’
    He flew up the stairs.
    â€˜â€˜Now,’’ I whispered, loudly, into the saloon—too loudly, perhaps, but I was afraid I couldn’t make a sound. He was by my side in an instant—the double captain slipped past the stairs—through a tiny dark passage . . . a sliding door. We were in the sail locker, scrambling on our knees over the sails. A sudden thought struck me. I saw myself wandering barefooted, bareheaded, the sun beating on my dark poll.