g."

The man turned white with rage, but stood a moment contemplating
Leonard's athletic form and keen eyes. Apparently he found that in them
which gave him pause, for instead of springing at him, he burst into a
volume of threats and filthy abuse.

How the matter would have ended it is difficult to say, but at this
juncture Pereira thought it well to interfere, and vigorously.

"Peace!" he thundered in his great voice, his white hair bristling with
rage. "I have welcomed this man, and he is welcome. Is my word to be set
aside by a drunken young brawler like you? Shut your ugly mouth or, by
the Saints, I will have you clapped in irons."

The slave-driver obeyed; perhaps he was not sorry for an excuse to
escape the quarrel. At any rate with a scowl at Leonard he dropped back
and was silent.

Harmony being thus restored, Pereira proceeded with the business of
the evening. First, however, he called Leonard to him, shook him by
the hand, and bade a slave-girl bring him drink. Then he addressed the
company thus:

"My lambs, my dear companions, my true and trusted friends, this is
a sad moment for me, your old leader, for I stand here to bid you
good-bye. To-morrow the Nest will know the Yellow Devil no more, and you
must find another captain. Alas! I grow old, I am no longer up to the
work, and trade is not what it was, thanks to those infernal Englishmen
and their cruisers, which prowl up and down our waters, seeking to rob
honest men of the fruits of their enterprise. For nearly fifty years I
have been connected with the business, and I think that the natives of
these parts will remember me--not angrily, oh! no, but as a benefactor.
For have not some twenty thousand of their young people passed through
my hands, rescued by me from the curse of barbarism and sent to learn
the blessings of civilisation and the arts of peace in the homes of kind
and indulgent masters?

"Sometimes, not often, but now and again, there has been bloodshed in
the course of our little expeditions. I regret it. But what will you?
These people are so obstinate that they cannot see how well it is for
them to come under my wing. And if they try to injure us in our good
work, why, we must fight. We all know the bitterness of ingratitude,
but we have to put up with it. It is a trial sent to us from Heaven,
my lambs, always remember that. So I retire with such modest gains as
I have won by a life of labour--indeed, they have gone before me, lest