g stride and dropped both his hands on the Malay's
shoulders. In the powerful grip Babalatchi swayed to and fro limply, but
his face was as peaceful as when he sat--a little while ago--dreaming by
the fire. With a final vicious jerk Willems let go suddenly, and turning
away on his heel stretched his hands over the fire. Babalatchi stumbled
backwards, recovered himself, and wriggled his shoulders laboriously.

"Tse! Tse! Tse!" he clicked, deprecatingly. After a short silence he
went on with accentuated admiration: "What a man it is! What a strong
man! A man like that"--he concluded, in a tone of meditative wonder--"a
man like that could upset mountains--mountains!"

He gazed hopefully for a while at Willems' broad shoulders, and
continued, addressing the inimical back, in a low and persuasive voice--

"But why be angry with me? With me who think only of your good? Did I
not give her refuge, in my own house? Yes, Tuan! This is my own house.
I will let you have it without any recompense because she must have a
shelter. Therefore you and she shall live here. Who can know a woman's
mind? And such a woman! If she wanted to go away from that other place,
who am I--to say no! I am Omar's servant. I said: 'Gladden my heart by
taking my house.' Did I say right?"

"I'll tell you something," said Willems, without changing his position;
"if she takes a fancy to go away from this place it is you who shall
suffer. I will wring your neck."

"When the heart is full of love there is no room in it for justice,"
recommenced Babalatchi, with unmoved and persistent softness. "Why slay
me? You know, Tuan, what she wants. A splendid destiny is her desire--as
of all women. You have been wronged and cast out by your people. She
knows that. But you are brave, you are strong--you are a man; and,
Tuan--I am older than you--you are in her hand. Such is the fate of
strong men. And she is of noble birth and cannot live like a slave. You
know her--and you are in her hand. You are like a snared bird, because
of your strength. And--remember I am a man that has seen much--submit,
Tuan! Submit! . . . Or else . . ."

He drawled out the last words in a hesitating manner and broke off his
sentence. Still stretching his hands in turns towards the blaze and
without moving his head, Willems gave a short, lugubrious laugh, and
asked--

"Or else what?"

"She may go away again. Who knows?" finished Babalatchi, in a gentle and
insinuating tone.

This time