62 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
stood on a plot of grass, making an inky black¬ 
ness in the white flood of moonlight. As we 
lay in bed we could feel, at intervals, a faint 
vibration of the ground, but whether this was 
due to the thud of the great Falls in the 
distance, or to some seismic disturbance, it was 
impossible to say. The dining room was in a 
large separate building, with lofty walls, the 
few tables standing like islands in an uncharted 
sea. 
After dinner we strolled out to see a peons’ 
dance. 
The night had come down quickly, and each 
building was brilliantly lit by electricity, the 
doors and windows standing wide open. The 
thrumming of guitars guided our footsteps 
down the dusty red road, and we passed little 
knots of people, making their way in the dusk 
to the open space where the dance was to be 
held. A few chairs had been set for spectators, 
and the electric lights at the gateway flared on 
the women’s light print dresses, and showed up 
the poppy red of the men’s scarves. 
The air was motionless and warm, and the 
velvety black of the sky was riddled with stars. 
The trees beyond the enclosure showed as heavy 
masses of deep shadow, and along the fences 
there lounged a crowd of idlers, watching the 
dancing. The light fell on them and on the 
groups of seated women, catching a gleam from 
an earring or a silver spur, showing up an olive 
