the hall. Yet should he not do so, then, he told himself,
he would write from Singapore.

But when he reached the veranda, only the general was there. Beyond, the
gharry stood in readiness, and by it was Atcheh, the trunk and shirt-box
already strapped in place. Tancred stretched his hand.

"General--"

"I wish you a pleasant journey, sir," that gentleman answered, and
lifted his hat.

Mechanically Tancred raised his own.

"I thank you," he said. And with a backward glance he called to Zut and
entered the conveyance.

A whip cracked, the gharry started; in a moment it was on the road.
Tancred turned to take another and a parting look. Already the general
had disappeared, but from a window he caught a glimpse of some one robed
in white. A curve was rounded and the bungalow disappeared.

For an hour over a road beside which the Corniche is commonplace indeed,
the gharry rolled on. To Tancred, however, its beauties were remote and
undiscerned. If he noticed them at all it was only as accessories. He
was wholly absorbed in his own discomfiture, and the gharry drew up and
halted at the wharf before he was aware that Siak had been reached and
the journey was done.

About him was the same assortment of fat-faced Celestials and gaunt
Malays that he had noticed before. Apparently nothing had happened to
them; they had contented themselves with continuing to be. Before him
was a glistening sea, a limitless horizon. To the left the shore
extended, fairer and more brilliant than the courtyard of a royal
domain. Just beyond, one of the ships of the Dutch East India service
was moored, her funnels lengthening and fading in spirals of smoke. And
when Tancred had attended to the transfer of his luggage, and was about
to step into the sampan that was to convey him to the steamer, there
came a clatter of horse's hoofs, and on a black and panting pony Atcheh
suddenly appeared.

"Tuan," he cried, and waved something in the air. "Tuan, a moment more."

In that moment he had sprung from the pony and run to where Tancred
stood.

"From the little lady, Lord," he said, and, handing a basket to his
master's guest, bowed to the ground.

Tancred found a bit of gold.

"For you," he said, and the Malay bowed again. "To the lady, give my
thanks."

And at once his heart gave an exultant throb; his departure was
regretted. As he lowered himself into the boat his excess of joy was so
acute he nearly fell. Truly, if it be pleasant to a