t she flew down the enclosure, and
disappeared through the gate of the courtyard. Lakamba and Babalatchi
looked after her. They heard the renewed tumult, the girl's clear voice
calling out, "Let him go!" Then after a pause in the din no longer
than half the human breath the name of Aissa rang in a shout loud,
discordant, and piercing, which sent through them an involuntary
shudder. Old Omar collapsed on his carpet and moaned feebly; Lakamba
stared with gloomy contempt in the direction of the inhuman sound; but
Babalatchi, forcing a smile, pushed his distinguished protector through
the narrow gate in the stockade, followed him, and closed it quickly.

The old woman, who had been most of the time kneeling by the fire, now
rose, glanced round fearfully and crouched hiding behind the tree. The
gate of the great courtyard flew open with a great clatter before a
frantic kick, and Willems darted in carrying Aissa in his arms. He
rushed up the enclosure like a tornado, pressing the girl to his breast,
her arms round his neck, her head hanging back over his arm, her eyes
closed and her long hair nearly touching the ground. They appeared for
a second in the glare of the fire, then, with immense strides, he dashed
up the planks and disappeared with his burden in the doorway of the big
house.

Inside and outside the enclosure there was silence. Omar lay supporting
himself on his elbow, his terrified face with its closed eyes giving him
the appearance of a man tormented by a nightmare.

"What is it? Help! Help me to rise!" he called out faintly.

The old hag, still crouching in the shadow, stared with bleared eyes
at the doorway of the big house, and took no notice of his call. He
listened for a while, then his arm gave way, and, with a deep sigh of
discouragement, he let himself fall on the carpet.

The boughs of the tree nodded and trembled in the unsteady currents of
the light wind. A leaf fluttered down slowly from some high branch and
rested on the ground, immobile, as if resting for ever, in the glow of
the fire; but soon it stirred, then soared suddenly, and flew, spinning
and turning before the breath of the perfumed breeze, driven helplessly
into the dark night that had closed over the land.

CHAPTER THREE

For upwards of forty years Abdulla had walked in the way of his Lord.
Son of the rich Syed Selim bin Sali, the great Mohammedan trader of the
Straits, he went forth at the age of seventeen on his first comme