other persons, and compared
it with the value in these matters in which he held himself. Doubtless
Oolanga had his dreams like other men. In such cases he saw himself as a
young sun-god, as beautiful as the eye of dusky or even white womanhood
had ever dwelt upon. He would have been filled with all noble and
captivating qualities--or those regarded as such in West Africa. Women
would have loved him, and would have told him so in the overt and fervid
manner usual in affairs of the heart in the shadowy depths of the forest
of the Gold Coast.

Oolanga came close behind Lady Arabella, and in a hushed voice, suitable
to the importance of his task, and in deference to the respect he had for
her and the place, began to unfold the story of his love. Lady Arabella
was not usually a humorous person, but no man or woman of the white race
could have checked the laughter which rose spontaneously to her lips. The
circumstances were too grotesque, the contrast too violent, for subdued
mirth. The man a debased specimen of one of the most primitive races of
the earth, and of an ugliness which was simply devilish; the woman of
high degree, beautiful, accomplished. She thought that her first
moment's consideration of the outrage--it was nothing less in her
eyes--had given her the full material for thought. But every instant
after threw new and varied lights on the affront. Her indignation was
too great for passion; only irony or satire would meet the situation. Her
cold, cruel nature helped, and she did not shrink to subject this
ignorant savage to the merciless fire-lash of her scorn.

Oolanga was dimly conscious that he was being flouted; but his anger was
no less keen because of the measure of his ignorance. So he gave way to
it, as does a tortured beast. He ground his great teeth together, raved,
stamped, and swore in barbarous tongues and with barbarous imagery. Even
Lady Arabella felt that it was well she was within reach of help, or he
might have offered her brutal violence--even have killed her.

"Am I to understand," she said with cold disdain, so much more effective
to wound than hot passion, "that you are offering me your love?
Your--love?"

For reply he nodded his head. The scorn of her voice, in a sort of
baleful hiss, sounded--and felt--like the lash of a whip.

"And you dared! you--a savage--a slave--the basest thing in the world of
vermin! Take care! I don't value your worthless life more than I do
th