I -- I made enquiries about Tonquin. They were not satisfactory.

In Tonquin are savage Chinese who rip you open. My artistic
tastes -- for I am also an artist -- recoiled from the idea of

being ripped open. The great man makes up his mind quickly.
I made up my mind. I determined not to be ripped open. I deserted.

'I reached Marseilles disguised as an old man. I went to the
house of my cousin -- he in whom runs my grandfather's heroic

blood -- and there sat Annette. It was the season of cherries.
They took a double stalk. At each end was a cherry. My cousin

put one into his mouth, Annette put the other in hers. Then
they drew the stalks in till their eyes met -- and alas, alas

that I should have to say it! -- they kissed. The game was a
pretty one, but it filled me with fury. The heroic blood of

my grandfather boiled up in me. I rushed into the kitchen.
I struck my cousin with the old man's crutch. He fell -- I had

slain him. Alas, I believe that I did slay him. Annette screamed.
The gendarmes came. I fled. I reached the harbour. I hid

aboard a vessel. The vessel put to sea. The captain found me
and beat me. He took an opportunity. He posted a letter from

a foreign port to the police. He did not put me ashore because
I cooked so well. I cooked for him all the way to Zanzibar.

When I asked for payment he kicked me. The blood of my heroic
grandfather boiled within me, and I shook my fist in his face

and vowed to have my revenge. He kicked me again. At Zanzibar
there was a telegram. I cursed the man who invented telegraphs.

Now I curse him again. I was to be arrested for desertion,
for murder, and que sais-je? I escaped from the prison. I fled,

I starved. I met the men of Monsieur le Cure. They brought
me here. I am full of woe. But I return not to France. Better

to risk my life in these horrible places than to know the Bagne.'
He paused, and we nearly choked with laughter, having to turn

our faces away.
'Ah! you weep, messieurs,' he said. 'No wonder -- it is a sad

story.'
'Perhaps,' said Sir Henry, 'the heroic blood of your

grandparent will triumph after all; perhaps you will still be
great. At any rate we shall see. And now I vote we go to bed.

I am dead tired, and we had not much sleep on that confounded
rock last night.'

And so we did, and very strange the tidy rooms and clean white
sheets seemed to us after our recent experiences.

CHAPTER V
UMSLOPOGAAS MAKES A PROMISE

Next morning at breakfast I missed Flossie and asked where she was.
'Well,' said her mother, 'when I got up this morning I found

a note put outside my door in which -- But here it is, you can
read it for yourself,' and she gave me the slip of paper on which

the following was written: --
'Dearest M--, -- It is just dawn, and I am off to the hills to

get Mr Q-- a bloom of the lily he wants, so don't expect me till
you see me. I have taken the white donkey; and nurse and a couple

of boys are coming with me -- also something to eat, as I may
be away all day, for I am determined to get the lily if I have

to go twenty miles for it. -- Flossie.'
'I hope she will be all right,' I said, a little anxiously;

'I never meant her to trouble after the flower.'
'Ah, Flossie can look after herself,' said her mother; 'she often

goes off in this way like a true child of the wilderness.' But
Mr Mackenzie, who came in just then and saw the note for the

first time, looked rather grave, though he said nothing.
After breakfast was over I took him aside and asked him whether

it would not be possible to send after the girl and get her back,
having in view the possibility of there still being some Masai

hanging about, at whose hands she might come to harm.
'I fear it would be of no use,' he answered. 'She may be fifteen

miles off by now, and it is impossible to say what path she has
taken. There are the hills;' and he pointed to a long range

of rising ground stretching almost parallel with the course followed
by the river Tana, but gradually sloping down to a dense bush-clad

plain about five miles short of the house.
Here I suggested that we might get up the great tree over the

house and search the country round with a spyglass; and this,
after Mr Mackenzie had given some orders to his people to try

and follow Flossie's spoor, we did.
The ascent of the mighty tree was rather an alarming performance,

even with a sound rope-ladder fixed at both ends to climb up,
at least to a landsman; but Good came up like a lamplighter.

On reaching the height at which the first fern-shaped boughs
sprang from the bole, we stepped without any difficulty upon

a platform made of boards, nailed from one bough to another,
and large enough to accommodate a dozen people. As for the view,

it was simply glorious. In ever direction the bush rolled away
in great billows for miles and miles, as far as the glass would

show, only here and there broken by the brighter green of patches
of cultivation, or by the glittering surface of lakes. To the

northwest, Kenia reared his mighty head, and we could trace the
Tana river curling like a silver snake almost from his feet,

and far away beyond us towards the ocean. It is a glorious country,
and only wants the hand of civilized man to make it a most productive

one.
But look as we would, we could see no signs of Flossie and her

donkey, so at last we had to come down disappointed. On reaching
the veranda I found Umslopogaas sitting there, slowly and lightly

sharpening his axe with a small whetstone he always carried with
him.

'What doest thou, Umslopogaas?' I asked.
'I smell blood,' was the answer; and I could get no more out

of him.
After dinner we again went up the tree and searched the surrounding

country with a spyglass, but without result. When we came down
Umslopogaas was still sharpening Inkosi-kaas, although she already

had an edge like a razor. Standing in front of him, and regarding
him with a mixture of fear and fascination, was Alphonse. And

certainly he did seem an alarming object -- sitting there, Zulu
fashion, on his haunches, a wild look upon his intenselysavage

and yet intellectual face, sharpening, sharpening, sharpening
at the murderous-looking axe.

'Oh, the monster, the horrible man!' said the little French cook,
lifting his hands in amazement. 'See but the hole in his head;

the skin beats on it up and down like a baby's! Who would nurse
such a baby?' and he burst out laughing at the idea.

For a moment Umslopogaas looked up from his sharpening, and a
sort of evil light played in his dark eyes.

'What does the little "buffalo-heifer" [so named by Umslopogaas,
on account of his mustachios and femininecharacteristics] say?

Let him be careful, or I will cut his horns. Beware, little
man monkey, beware!'

Unfortunately Alphonse, who was getting over his fear of him,
went on laughing at 'ce drole d'un monsieur noir'. I was about

to warn him to desist, when suddenly the huge Zulu bounded off
the veranda on to the open space where Alphonse was standing,

his features alive with a sort of maliciousenthusiasm, and began
swinging the axe round and round over the Frenchman's head.