ain spoke to me.

"You know us. You have lived with us. Why?--we cannot know; but you
understand our sorrows and our thoughts. You have lived with my people,
and you understand our desires and our fears. With you I will go. To
your land--to your people. To your people, who live in unbelief; to whom
day is day, and night is night--nothing more, because you understand all
things seen, and despise all else! To your land of unbelief, where the
dead do not speak, where every man is wise, and alone--and at peace!"

"Capital description," murmured Hollis, with the flicker of a smile.

Karain hung his head.

"I can toil, and fight--and be faithful," he whispered, in a weary tone,
"but I cannot go back to him who waits for me on the shore. No! Take me
with you . . . Or else give me some of your strength--of your unbelief.
. . . A charm! . . ."

He seemed utterly exhausted.

"Yes, take him home," said Hollis, very low, as if debating with
himself. "That would be one way. The ghosts there are in society, and
talk affably to ladies and gentlemen, but would scorn a naked human
being--like our princely friend. . . . Naked . . . Flayed! I should say.
I am sorry for him. Impossible--of course. The end of all this shall
be," he went on, looking up at us--"the end of this shall be, that some
day he will run amuck amongst his faithful subjects and send 'ad patres'
ever so many of them before they make up their minds to the disloyalty
of knocking him on the head."

I nodded. I thought it more than probable that such would be the end of
Karain. It was evident that he had been hunted by his thought along the
very limit of human endurance, and very little more pressing was needed
to make him swerve over into the form of madness peculiar to his race.
The respite he had during the old man's life made the return of the
torment unbearable. That much was clear.

He lifted his head suddenly; we had imagined for a moment that he had
been dozing.

"Give me your protection--or your strength!" he cried. "A charm . . . a
weapon!"

Again his chin fell on his breast. We looked at him, then looked at one
another with suspicious awe in our eyes, like men who come unexpectedly
upon the scene of some mysterious disaster. He had given himself up to
us; he had thrust into our hands his errors and his torment, his life
and his peace; and we did not know what to do with that problem from the
outer darkness. We three white men, looking at the Malay, co