Then they crept on, perfectly sure that if they were not heard they would not be seen, curtained as they were by the dense mist and darkness.
At length they reached the bole of the first big gum tree.

Five paces from this tree Frank Muller's tent was pitched.

There was a light in it which caused the wet tent to glow in the mist, as though it had been rubbed with phosphorus, and on this lurid canvas the shadow of Frank Muller was gigantically limned.

He was so placed that the lamp cast a magnified reflection of his every feature and even of his expression upon the screen before them.

The attitude in which he sat was his favourite one when he was plunged in thought, his hands resting on his knees and his gaze fixed on vacancy.