What were her thoughts? Perhaps of the glorious work of the
Master-Builder; perhaps of the tints and shades where the blue of the
forest, the brown of the fern-clad foot-hills, the buff of the sun-dried
grass, mottled the panorama which lay spread before her. But if so,
why did she sigh? Does the contour of a hill suffuse the eye? Not a
hundred-thousand hills could in themselves cause a sob, not even the
gentle sob which amounted to no more than a painful little catch in
Rose's creamy throat.

She was standing on the top of the bank, which was surmounted by a white
fence; her knee resting on the garden-seat upon which she had placed
her basket, whilst in reverie her spirit was carried beyond the blue
mountains. But there appeared behind her the bulky form of her father,
who walked in carpet slippers upon the gravel of the path.

"Rosebud, my gal." The stentorian tones of the old sailor's voice woke
her suddenly from her day-dream. "There's a party in the parlour waitin'
the pleasure of your company, a party mighty anxious for to converse
with a clean white woman by way of a change."

The girl quickly took up her flowers.

"Who can it possibly be, father?"

"Come and see, my gal; come and see."

The old fellow went before, and his daughter followed him into the
house. There, in the parlour, seated at the table, was Captain Sartoris.

Rose gave way to a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure; and was
advancing to greet her visitor, when he arrested her with a gesture of
his hand.

"Don't come too nigh, Miss Summerhayes," he said, with mock gravity. "I
might ha' got the plague or the yaller fever. A man out o' currantine is
to be approached with caution. Jest stand up agin' the sideboard, my
dear, and let me look at you." The girl put down her roses, and posed as
desired.

"Very pretty," said Sartoris. "Pink-and-white, pure bred,
English--which, after being boxed in with a menag'ry o' Chinamen and
Malays, is wholesome and reassuring."

"Are you out for good, Captain?"

"They can put me aboard who can catch me, my dear. I'd run into the
bush, and live like a savage. I'm not much of a mountaineer, but you
would see how I could travel."

"But what was the disease?" asked the Pilot.

"Some sort of special Chinese fever; something bred o' dirt and filth
and foulness; a complaint you have to live amongst for weeks, before
you'll get it; a kind o' beri-beri or break-bone, which was new to the
doctors here.