do his best, sir," said the Malay, gravely.

"Then now for a good comfortable snooze on those clean mats, for I'm
tired out. Come along, Ned. Good-night, Hamet. Where do you sleep?"

"Across the door, sahib," said the man, who bore the lamp into the
sleeping chamber, and then stretched himself across the entrance.

"You can sleep too, Ned," said Murray, yawning as he threw himself on
his simple couch.

"No, uncle," said Ned. "I am going to lie and think a bit."

"Bah! Sleep, boy. It is only a bit of an adventure after all.
Heigho-ha-hum! Good-night."

"Good-night, uncle," said Ned, as he too lay down, hearing the distant
cry of a tiger through the mat-screened door; and then he began thinking
about the adventures of the past day, and how strange their position
was.

Only began: for in spite of tigers, mosquitoes, and the fact that
fierce-looking Malay spearmen were about the place, Ned's waking moments
were moments indeed, and only few. Certainly not a minute had elapsed
before he was fast asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A MORNING WALK.

When Ned Murray opened his eyes again, it was to gaze at the faint dawn
which was making its way into the larger room; and he lay puzzled and
wondering for a few minutes before he could quite make out where he was.
Then it all came like a flash, and he looked across the room to dimly
make out the figure of his uncle fast asleep.

Ned lay thinking for a few moments and then rose softly, ready dressed
as he was, and stole out, with the bamboo flooring creaking beneath his
feet.

At the top of the steps he found Hamet, and after a few words spoken in
a whisper, Ned said: "I don't suppose uncle will wake yet, but if he
does, say I'm gone down to look at the river."

The Malay nodded, and showed his white teeth, and Ned stepped quietly
down, looking sharply round to have hard work to restrain a start, as he
caught sight of four swarthy sentries standing spear in hand. But he
ignored their presence, and walked slowly along, but only to be aware of
the fact directly, that two of them were following quietly in his steps,
and looking, as he glanced back once, with his hands in his pockets and
whistling softly, singularly ghostly and strange.

For there was a heavy mist floating softly in the morning air, and as
the boy slowly made his way among the houses, there was a feeling of
chilliness that, in combination with the novelty of his position, made
him shiver.

His int