dience of our brethren, and he will understand what he has to hope or
fear from such men. Be it through admiration or through terror, he must
become one of us."

"But if he refuses to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to
hate mankind?"

"Then--Bowanee will decide his fate," said Faringhea, with a gloomy
look; "I have my plan."

"But will the Malay succeed in surprising Djalma during his sleep?" said
the negro.

"There is none nobler, more agile, more dexterous, than the Malay,"
said Faringhea. "He once had the daring to surprise in her den a black
panther, as she suckled her cub. He killed the dam, and took away the
young one, which he afterwards sold to some European ship's captain."

"The Malay has succeeded!" exclaimed the Indian, listening to a singular
kind of hoot, which sounded through the profound silence of the night
and of the woods.

"Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey," said the negro,
listening in his turn; "it is also the signal of our brethren, after
they have seized their prey."

In a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut. He had
wound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored
stripes.

"Well," said the negro, anxiously; "have you succeeded?"

"Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the good work," said the
Malay, proudly. "To reach him, I was forced to offer up to Bowanee a man
who crossed my path--I have left his body under the brambles, near the
ajoupa. But Djalma is marked with the sign. Mahal the Smuggler was the
first to know it."

"And Djalma did not awake?" said the Indian, confounded by the Malay's
adroitness.

"Had he awoke," replied the other, calmly, "I should have been a dead
man--as I was charged to spare his life."

"Because his life may be more useful to us than his death," said the
half-caste. Then, addressing the Malay, he added: "Brother, in risking
life for the good work, you have done to-day what we did yesterday,
what we may do again to-morrow. This time, you obey; another you will
command."

"We all belong to Bowanee," answered the Malay. "What is there yet to
do?--I am ready." Whilst he thus spoke, his face was turned towards the
door of the hut; on a sudden, he said in a low voice: "Here is Djalma.
He approaches the cabin. Mahal has not deceived us."

"He must not see me yet," said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure corner
of the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; "try to persuade him. I