utstretched legs. The whole hut shook. Lingard looked
at the excited statesman curiously.

"Apa! Apa! What's the matter?" he murmured, soothingly. "Whom did I kill
here? Where are my guns? What have I done? What have I eaten up?"

Babalatchi calmed down, and spoke with studied courtesy.

"You, Tuan, are of the sea, and more like what we are. Therefore I speak
to you all the words that are in my heart. . . . Only once has the sea
been stronger than the Rajah of the sea."

"You know it; do you?" said Lingard, with pained sharpness.

"Hai! We have heard about your ship--and some rejoiced. Not I. Amongst
the whites, who are devils, you are a man."

"Trima kassi! I give you thanks," said Lingard, gravely.

Babalatchi looked down with a bashful smile, but his face became
saddened directly, and when he spoke again it was in a mournful tone.

"Had you come a day sooner, Tuan, you would have seen an enemy die. You
would have seen him die poor, blind, unhappy--with no son to dig his
grave and speak of his wisdom and courage. Yes; you would have seen the
man that fought you in Carimata many years ago, die alone--but for one
friend. A great sight to you."

"Not to me," answered Lingard. "I did not even remember him till
you spoke his name just now. You do not understand us. We fight, we
vanquish--and we forget."

"True, true," said Babalatchi, with polite irony; "you whites are so
great that you disdain to remember your enemies. No! No!" he went on, in
the same tone, "you have so much mercy for us, that there is no room for
any remembrance. Oh, you are great and good! But it is in my mind that
amongst yourselves you know how to remember. Is it not so, Tuan?"

Lingard said nothing. His shoulders moved imperceptibly. He laid his gun
across his knees and stared at the flint lock absently.

"Yes," went on Babalatchi, falling again into a mournful mood, "yes, he
died in darkness. I sat by his side and held his hand, but he could not
see the face of him who watched the faint breath on his lips. She, whom
he had cursed because of the white man, was there too, and wept with
covered face. The white man walked about the courtyard making many
noises. Now and then he would come to the doorway and glare at us who
mourned. He stared with wicked eyes, and then I was glad that he who was
dying was blind. This is true talk. I was glad; for a white man's eyes
are not good to see when the devil that lives within is looking out
through th