black cedar trees, and, so far as he could see, a
prisoner without hope of escape.

Moreover, he could no longer disguise from himself the truth; Jeekie was
right. The Asika had fallen in love with him, or at any rate made up her
mind that he should be her next husband. He hated the sight of the woman
and her sinuous, evil beauty, but to be free of her was impossible, and
to offend her, death. All day long she kept him about her, and from his
sleep he would wake up and as on the night of his arrival,
distinguish her leaning over him studying his face by the light of
the faintly-burning lamps, as a snake studies the bird it is about to
strike. He dared not stir or give the slightest sign that he saw her.
Nor indeed did he always see her, for he kept his eyes closely shut.
But even in his heaviest slumber some warning sense told him of her
presence, and then above Jeekie's snores (for on these occasions Jeekie
always snored his loudest) he would hear a soft footfall, as cat-like,
she crept towards him, or the sweep of her spangled robe, or the
tinkling of the scales of her golden breastplate. For a long while
she would stand there, examining him greedily and even the few little
belongings that remained to him, and then with a hungry sigh glide away
and vanish in the shadows. How she came or how she vanished Alan could
not discover. Clearly she did not use the door, and he could find
no other entrance to the room. Indeed at times he thought he must be
suffering from delusion, but Jeekie shook his great head and did not
agree with him.

"She there right enough," he said. "She walk over me as though I log
and I smell stuff she put on hair, but I think she come and go by magic.
Asika do that if she please."

"Then I wish she would teach me the secret, Jeekie. I should soon be out
of Asiki-land, I can tell you."

All that day Alan had been in her company, answering her endless
questions about his past, the lands that he had visited, and especially
the women that he had known. He had the tact to tell her that none of
these were half so beautiful as she was, which was true in a sense and
pleased her very much, for in whatever respects she differed from them,
in common with the rest of her sex she loved a compliment. Emboldened by
her good humour, he had ventured to suggest that being rested and having
restored Little Bonsa, he would be glad to return with her gifts to his
own country. Next instant he was sorry, for as soon