ing till Scott should come. Below her, the
reeking city was hushed to a murmur, through which there sounded from
the Praca a far throb of drums and pipe-music; and overhead the sky
was a dome of velvet, spangled with a glory of bold stars. Save to the
east, where the blank white walls of the house overlooked the water,
there was on all sides a shadowy prospect of parapets, for in Superban
the houses are close together and folk live intimately upon their
roofs. As she sat, Incarnacion could hear a voice that quavered and
choked as some stricken man labored with his prayers against the
plague that was laying the city waste. Through all Superban such
petitions went up, while daily and nightly the tale of deaths mounted
and the corpses multiplied faster than the graves.

Incarnacion lit herself a cigarette, tucked her feet under her, and
wondered why Scott did not come. But her chief quality was serenity;
she did not give herself over to worry, content to let all problems
solve themselves, as most problems will. She was a wee girl,
preserving on the threshold of sun-ripened womanhood the soft and
pathetic graces of a docile child. Her scarlet dress left her warm
arms bare and did not trespass on the slender throat; she had all the
charm of intrinsic femininity which comes to fruit so early in the
climate of Mozambique and fades so soon. It was this, no doubt, that
had taken Scott and held him; gaunt, harsh, direct in his purposes as
he was quick in his strength, with Incarnacion he found scope for the
tenderness that lurked beneath his rude forcefulness.

He came at last. She heard his step on the stair, cast her cigarette
from her, and sprang to meet him with a little laugh of delight. He
took her in his arms, lifting her from her little bare feet to kiss
her.

"O-oh, Jock, you break me," she gasped, as he set her down. "You are
strong like a bull. What you bin away so long?"

He smiled at her gravely as he let himself down on her rugs and put a
long arm round her. "Did you want me, 'Carnacion?" he asked.

"Me? No," she answered, laughing; "I don' want you, Jock. You go away
twenty--thirty--days; I don' care. Ah, Jock!"

He pressed her close and kissed the crown of her dark head gently. His
strong, keen-featured face was very tender, for this small woman of
the old tropics was all but all the world to him. "You're a little
rip," he said, as he released her. "Make me a cigarette, 'Carnacion.
I've found the boat."