on of a confidential
adviser, he could, in the dim vista of past years, see himself--a casual
cut-throat--finding shelter under that man's roof in the modest
rice-clearing of early beginnings. Then came a long period of unbroken
success, of wise counsels, and deep plottings resolutely carried out by
the fearless Lakamba, till the whole east coast from Poulo Laut to
Tanjong Batu listened to Babalatchi's wisdom speaking through the mouth
of the ruler of Sambir. In those long years how many dangers escaped,
how many enemies bravely faced, how many white men successfully
circumvented! And now he looked upon the result of so many years of
patient toil: the fearless Lakamba cowed by the shadow of an impending
trouble. The ruler was growing old, and Babalatchi, aware of an uneasy
feeling at the pit of his stomach, put both his hands there with a
suddenly vivid and sad perception of the fact that he himself was growing
old too; that the time of reckless daring was past for both of them, and
that they had to seek refuge in prudent cunning. They wanted peace; they
were disposed to reform; they were ready even to retrench, so as to have
the wherewithal to bribe the evil days away, if bribed away they could
be. Babalatchi sighed for the second time that night as he squatted
again at his master's feet and tendered him his betel-nut box in mute
sympathy. And they sat there in close yet silent communion of betel-nut
chewers, moving their jaws slowly, expectorating decorously into the wide-
mouthed brass vessel they passed to one another, and listening to the
awful din of the battling elements outside.

"There is a very great flood," remarked Babalatchi, sadly.

"Yes," said Lakamba. "Did Dain go?"

"He went, Tuan. He ran down to the river like a man possessed of the
Sheitan himself."

There was another long pause.

"He may get drowned," suggested Lakamba at last, with some show of
interest.

"The floating logs are many," answered Babalatchi, "but he is a good
swimmer," he added languidly.

"He ought to live," said Lakamba; "he knows where the treasure is."

Babalatchi assented with an ill-humoured grunt. His want of success in
penetrating the white man's secret as to the locality where the gold was
to be found was a sore point with the statesman of Sambir, as the only
conspicuous failure in an otherwise brilliant career.

A great peace had now succeeded the turmoil of the storm. Only the
little belated clouds, whi