so anxious to get. Somehow
or other they tried to get around Belarab, who came to see me last night
and hinted I had better do so. He is anxious for these Illanuns to leave
the neighbourhood. He thinks that if they loot the schooner they will be
off at once. That's all he wants now. Immada has been to see Belarab's
women and stopped two nights in the stockade. Belarab's youngest
wife--he got married six weeks ago--is on the side of Tengga's party
because she thinks Belarab would get a share of the loot and she got
into her silly head there are jewels and silks in that schooner. What
between Tengga worrying him outside and the women worrying him at home,
Belarab had such a lively time of it that he concluded he would go to
pray at his father's tomb. So for the last two days he has been away
camping in that unhealthy place. When he comes back he will be down with
fever as sure as fate and then he will be no good for anything. Tengga
lights up smoky fires often. Some signal to Daman. I go ashore with
Hassim's men and put them out. This is risking a fight every time--for
Tengga's men look very black at us. I don't know what the next move may
be. Hassim's as true as steel. Immada is very unhappy. They will tell
you many details I have no time to write.

The last page fluttered on the table out of Lingard's fingers. He sat
very still for a moment looking straight before him, then went on deck.

"Our boats back yet?" he asked Shaw, whom he saw prowling on the
quarter-deck.

"No, sir, I wish they were. I am waiting for them to go and turn in,"
answered the mate in an aggrieved manner.

"Lower that lantern forward there," cried Lingard, suddenly, in Malay.

"This trade isn't fit for a decent man," muttered Shaw to himself, and
he moved away to lean on the rail, looking moodily to seaward. After a
while: "There seems to be commotion on board that yacht," he said.
"I see a lot of lights moving about her decks. Anything wrong, do you
think, sir?"

"No, I know what it is," said Lingard in a tone of elation. She has done
it! he thought.

He returned to the cabin, put away Jorgenson's letter and pulled out the
drawer of the table. It was full of cartridges. He took a musket down,
loaded it, then took another and another. He hammered at the waddings
with fierce joyousness. The ramrods rang and jumped. It seemed to him
he was doing his share of some work in which that woman was playing her
part faithfully. "She has done it," he