ins and groves of tulip trees and mangoes.

Marian and I were put ashore in the ship's gig, having first bid adieu
to the officers, and set about inquiring the way to Mr. Rising's
house. In this at first we were unsuccessful, but at last I found an
obliging person on the quay who directed his native servant to guide
us to it.

This man, to whom I gave a handful of pice, conducted us through some
narrow streets of the town, very ill-paved, and full of a most evil
smell, to a lonely neighbourhood on the side of the river further up,
where there was a house built in the Moorish fashion, and enclosed in
a wild garden much overrun with weeds. All round this garden was a
high wall, conformable to the jealous disposition of these people. The
entrance was by a narrow gate, and there was a miserable dwelling
crouched against the wall inside, the door of which stood open. Some
black children were playing in front of this hovel, who cried out when
they saw us, and ran indoors. An Indian came out, very gaunt and
fierce, who demanded in English what we did there.

"We are come to see Mr. Rising," I told him, using his own language
which Mr. Scrafton had taught me. "Is this his house?"

"It is, my lord," says the fellow, much surprised, and giving a low
bow, which they call a salawm.

With that I dismissed our conductor, and Mr. Rising's gardener--for
such he was--brought us to the house. We now saw that though
originally a fine mansion it was sadly decayed. The walls should have
been white, but excessive heat had cracked and blistered them, and
turned everything to a yellowish hue. The Indian brought us inside,
and into a long, low-ceilinged room with a great window opening on to
the river. This room had no furniture except two small tables; but all
round the walls was a covered settee, very broad, such as the Moors
are used to sit on with their legs tucked up beneath them. To a
European it is uncomfortable at first, but by degrees I grew
accustomed to it. In this room presently Marian's father came to us.

The first sight of Mr. Rising gave me a shock, and must, I think, have
given a worse one to my companion. He was, as I knew, a man of middle
age, yet he looked very, very old, being bent down and much wrinkled,
with his hair nearly white. Moreover, his eyes wandered as if he were
uncertain which way to look, and while he spoke his fingers worked
strangely up and down his bosom, as if groping over the strings of
some musica