oon,
lest I should grow angry with you."

"I don't know what to say," answered Alan despairingly through Jeekie,
"the honour is too great for me, who am but a wandering trader who came
here to barter Little Bonsa against the gold I need"--to support my wife
and family, he was about to add, then remembering that this statement
might not be well received, substituted, "to support my old parents and
eight brothers and sisters who are dependent upon me, and remain hungry
until I return to them."

"Then I think they will remain hungry a long time, Vernoon, for while I
live you shall never return. Much as I love you I would kill you first,"
and her eyes glittered as she said the words. "Still," she added, noting
the fall in his face, "if it is gold that they need, you shall send it
them. Yes, my people shall take all that I gave you down to the coast,
and there it can be put in a big canoe and carried across the water. See
to the packing of the stuff, you black dog," she said to Jeekie over her
shoulder, "and when it is ready I will send it hence."

Alan began to thank her, though he thought it more than probable that
even if she kept her word, this bullion would never get to Old Calabar,
and much less to England. But she waived the matter aside as one in
which she was not interested.

"Tell me," she asked; "would you have me other than I am? First, do you
think me beautiful?"

"Yes," answered Alan honestly, "very beautiful when you are quiet as
now, not when you are dancing as you did the other night without your
robes."

When she understood what he meant the Asika actually blushed a little.

"I am sorry," she answered in a voice that for her was quite humble. "I
forget that it might seem strange in your eyes. It has always been
the custom for the Asika to do as I did at feasts and sacrifices, but
perhaps that is not the fashion among your women; perhaps they always
remain veiled, as I have heard the worshippers of the Prophet do, and
therefore you thought me immodest. I am very, very sorry, Vernoon. I
pray you to forgive me who am ignorant and only do what I have been
taught."

"Yes, they always remain veiled," stammered Alan, though he was not
referring to their faces, and as the words passed his lips he wondered
what the Asika would think if she could see a ballet at a London
music-hall.

"Is there anything else wrong?" she went on gently. "If so, tell me that
I may set it right."

"I do not like cruelty or