t last of leaving the waterside, it was only to strike a path
for himself and to creep along the fences, avoiding the middle of the
courtyard where small fires glimmered and winked as though the sinister
darkness there had reflected the stars of the serene heaven. He slunk
past the wicket-gate of Omar's enclosure, and crept on patiently along
the light bamboo palisade till he was stopped by the angle where it
joined the heavy stockade of Lakamba's private ground. Standing there,
he could look over the fence and see Omar's hut and the fire before its
door. He could also see the shadow of two human beings sitting between
him and the red glow. A man and a woman. The sight seemed to inspire the
careworn sage with a frivolous desire to sing. It could hardly be called
a song; it was more in the nature of a recitative without any rhythm,
delivered rapidly but distinctly in a croaking and unsteady voice; and
if Babalatchi considered it a song, then it was a song with a purpose
and, perhaps for that reason, artistically defective. It had all the
imperfections of unskilful improvisation and its subject was gruesome.
It told a tale of shipwreck and of thirst, and of one brother killing
another for the sake of a gourd of water. A repulsive story which might
have had a purpose but possessed no moral whatever. Yet it must have
pleased Babalatchi for he repeated it twice, the second time even in
louder tones than at first, causing a disturbance amongst the white
rice-birds and the wild fruit-pigeons which roosted on the boughs of
the big tree growing in Omar's compound. There was in the thick foliage
above the singer's head a confused beating of wings, sleepy remarks in
bird-language, a sharp stir of leaves. The forms by the fire moved; the
shadow of the woman altered its shape, and Babalatchi's song was cut
short abruptly by a fit of soft and persistent coughing. He did not try
to resume his efforts after that interruption, but went away stealthily
to seek--if not sleep--then, at least, repose.

CHAPTER SIX

As soon as Abdulla and his companions had left the enclosure, Aissa
approached Willems and stood by his side. He took no notice of her
expectant attitude till she touched him gently, when he turned furiously
upon her and, tearing off her face-veil, trampled upon it as though
it had been a mortal enemy. She looked at him with the faint smile of
patient curiosity, with the puzzled interest of ignorance watching the
running o