the small clearing. I waited.
He came up without a greeting and squatted down into the firelight. Then
he turned his face to me. It was Matara. He stared at me fiercely with
his big sunken eyes. The night was cold; the heat died suddenly out of
the fire, and he stared at me. I rose and went away from there, leaving
him by the fire that had no heat.

"I walked all that night, all next day, and in the evening made up a big
blaze and sat down--to wait for him. He had not come into the light.
I heard him in the bushes here and there, whispering, whispering.
I understood at last--I had heard the words before, 'You are my
friend--kill with a sure shot.'

"I bore it as long as I could--then leaped away, as on this very night
I leaped from my stockade and swam to you. I ran--I ran crying like a
child left alone and far from the houses. He ran by my side, without
footsteps, whispering, whispering--invisible and heard. I sought
people--I wanted men around me! Men who had not died! And again we two
wandered. I sought danger, violence, and death. I fought in the Atjeh
war, and a brave people wondered at the valiance of a stranger. But we
were two; he warded off the blows . . . Why? I wanted peace, not life.
And no one could see him; no one knew--I dared tell no one. At times he
would leave me, but not for long; then he would return and whisper or
stare. My heart was torn with a strange fear, but could not die. Then I
met an old man.

"You all knew him. People here called him my sorcerer, my servant and
sword-bearer; but to me he was father, mother, protection, refuge and
peace. When I met him he was returning from a pilgrimage, and I heard
him intoning the prayer of sunset. He had gone to the holy place with
his son, his son's wife, and a little child; and on their return, by
the favour of the Most High, they all died: the strong man, the young
mother, the little child--they died; and the old man reached his country
alone. He was a pilgrim serene and pious, very wise and very lonely.
I told him all. For a time we lived together. He said over me words of
compassion, of wisdom, of prayer. He warded from me the shade of the
dead. I begged him for a charm that would make me safe. For a long
time he refused; but at last, with a sigh and a smile, he gave me one.
Doubtless he could command a spirit stronger than the unrest of my dead
friend, and again I had peace; but I had become restless, and a lover of
turmoil and danger. The old ma