aniard or no Spaniard,
he is one of your kind."

"Tarred with the same brush," murmured Mrs. Travers, with only a
half-amused irony. But Lingard continued:

"He was trying to make it up between me and your husband, wasn't he? I
was too angry to pay much attention, but I liked him well enough. What
pleased me most was the way in which he gave it up. That was done like a
gentleman. Do you understand what I mean, Mrs. Travers?"

"I quite understand."

"Yes, you would," he commented, simply. "But just then I was too angry
to talk to anybody. And so I cleared out on board my own ship and stayed
there, not knowing what to do and wishing you all at the bottom of the
sea. Don't mistake me, Mrs. Travers; it's you, the people aft, that I
wished at the bottom of the sea. I had nothing against the poor devils
on board, They would have trusted me quick enough. So I fumed there
till--till. . . ."

"Till nine o'clock or a little after," suggested Mrs. Travers,
impenetrably.

"No. Till I remembered you," said Lingard with the utmost innocence.

"Do you mean to say that you forgot my existence so completely till
then? You had spoken to me on board the yacht, you know."

"Did I? I thought I did. What did I say?"

"You told me not to touch a dusky princess," answered Mrs. Travers with
a short laugh. Then with a visible change of mood as if she had suddenly
out of a light heart been recalled to the sense of the true situation:
"But indeed I meant no harm to this figure of your dream. And, look over
there. She is pursuing you." Lingard glanced toward the north shore and
suppressed an exclamation of remorse. For the second time he discovered
that he had forgotten the existence of Hassim and Immada. The canoe was
now near enough for its occupants to distinguish plainly the heads of
three people above the low bulwark of the Emma. Immada let her paddle
trail suddenly in the water, with the exclamation, "I see the white
woman there." Her brother looked over his shoulder and the canoe
floated, arrested as if by the sudden power of a spell.--"They are no
dream to me," muttered Lingard, sturdily. Mrs. Travers turned abruptly
away to look at the further shore. It was still and empty to the naked
eye and seemed to quiver in the sunshine like an immense painted curtain
lowered upon the unknown.

"Here's Rajah Hassim coming, Jorgenson. I had an idea he would perhaps
stay outside." Mrs. Travers heard Lingard's voice at her back and the
answ