," whispered Chantel, and, kneeling like a peddler
among the bazaar-stuffs, spread on the floor a Java sarong, blue and
brown, painted with men and buffaloes. On this he began to heap things
pell-mell.

The woman surrendered, and all at once flung her arms about Rudolph,
hiding her face, and clinging to him as if with the last of
her strength.

"Come, he'll bring them," she sobbed. "Let's go--to the boat. He must
find his own way. Take me." Hurry and fright choked her. "Take me--leave
him, if he won't come--I scolded him--then the noises came, and
we ran--"

"What boat?" said Rudolph.

Chantel did not look up.

"I have one ready and stocked," he mumbled, tugging with his teeth at
the knot in the sarong corners. "You can come. We'll drop down the
river, and try it along the coast. Only chance. Come on."

He rose, and started for the door, slinging the bright-colored bundle
over his shoulder. "Come on," he snarled. Against the gay pattern, his
handsome pirate face shone brown and evil in the lamplight. "Damn you,
I've waited long enough for your whims. Stay there and be killed, then."

He ran to the stairs, and down. The woman's arms began to drag loosely,
as if she were slipping to the floor; then suddenly, with a cry, she
turned and bolted. Run as he might, Rudolph did not overtake her till
she had caught Chantel at the gate. All three, silent, sped across
fields toward the river, through the startling shadows and dim orange
glow from distant flames.

The rough ground sloped, at last, and sent them stumbling down into mud.
Behind them the bank ran black and ragged against the glow; before them,
still more black, lay the river, placid, mysterious, and safe. Through
the mud they labored heavily toward a little, smoky light--a lantern
gleaming faintly on a polished gunwale, the shoulders of a man, and the
thin, slant line that was his pole.

"Lowdah?" called Chantel; and the shoulders moved, the line shifted, as
the boatman answered. Chantel pitched the bundle over the lantern, and
leapt on board. Rudolph came slowly, carrying in his arms the woman,
who lay quiet and limp, clasping him in a kind of drowsy oblivion. He
felt the flutter of her lips, while she whispered in his ear strange,
breathless entreaties, a broken murmur of endearments, unheard-of, which
tempted him more than the wide, alluring darkness of the river.

He lowered her slowly; and leaning against the gunwale, she still clung
to his hands.