touch the most lightsome heart.

He retired early to his room to soothe himself for a night's rest
by perusing his account-books. We two remained on the verandah for

another hour or so, but we exchanged only languid phrases on things
without importance, as though we had been emotionally jaded by our

long day's talk on the only momentous subject. And yet there was
something she might have told a friend. But she didn't. We parted

silently. She distrusted my masculine lack of common sense,
perhaps. . . . O! Freya!

Going down the precipitous path to the landing-stage, I was
confronted in the shadows of boulders and bushes by a draped

feminine figure whose appearance startled me at first. It glided
into my way suddenly from behind a piece of rock. But in a moment

it occurred to me that it could be no one else but Freya's maid, a
half-caste Malacca Portuguese. One caught fleeting glimpses of her

olive face and dazzling white teeth about the house. I had
observed her at times from a distance, as she sat within call under

the shade of some fruit trees, brushing and plaiting her long raven
locks. It seemed to be the principaloccupation of her leisure

hours. We had often exchanged nods and smiles - and a few words,
too. She was a pretty creature. And once I had watched her

approvingly make funny and expressive grimaces behind Heemskirk's
back. I understood (from Jasper) that she was in the secret, like

a comedy camerista. She was to accompany Freya on her irregular
way to matrimony and "ever after" happiness. Why should she be

roaming by night near the cove - unless on some love affair of her
own - I asked myself. But there was nobody suitable within the

Seven Isles group, as far as I knew. It flashed upon me that it
was myself she had been lying in wait for.

She hesitated, muffled from head to foot, shadowy and bashful. I
advanced another pace, and how I felt is nobody's business.

"What is it?" I asked, very low.
"Nobody knows I am here," she whispered.

"And nobody can see us," I whispered back.
The murmur of words "I've been so frightened" reached me. Just

then forty feet above our head, from the yet lighted verandah,
unexpected and startling, Freya's voice rang out in a clear,

imperious call:
"Antonia!"

With a stifled exclamation, the hesitating girl vanished out of the
path. A bush near by rustled; then silence. I waited wondering.

The lights on the verandah went out. I waited a while longer then
continued down the path to my boat, wondering more than ever.

I remember the occurrences of that visit especially, because this
was the last time I saw the Nelson bungalow. On arriving at the

Straits I found cable messages which made it necessary for me to
throw up my employment at a moment's notice and go home at once. I

had a desperatescramble to catch the mailboat which was due to
leave next day, but I found time to write two short notes, one to

Freya, the other to Jasper. Later on I wrote at length, this time
to Allen alone. I got no answer. I hunted up then his brother,

or, rather, half-brother, a solicitor in the city, a sallow, calm,
little man who looked at me over his spectacles thoughtfully.

Jasper was the only child of his father's second marriage, a
transaction which had failed to commend itself to the first, grown-

up family.
"You haven't heard for ages," I repeated, with secret annoyance.

"May I ask what 'for ages' means in this connection?"
"It means that I don't care whether I ever hear from him or not,"

retorted the little man of law, turning nasty suddenly.
I could not blame Jasper for not wasting his time in correspondence

with such an outrageousrelative. But why didn't he write to me -
a decent sort of friend, after all; enough of a friend to find for

his silence the excuse of forgetfulness natural to a state of
transcendental bliss? I waited indulgently, but nothing ever came.

And the East seemed to drop out of my life without an echo, like a
stone falling into a well of prodigious depth.

CHAPTER IV
I suppose praiseworthy motives are a sufficient justification

almost for anything. What could be more commendable in the
abstract than a girl's determination that "poor papa" should not be

worried, and her anxiety that the man of her choice should be kept
by any means from every occasion of doing something rash, something

which might endanger the whole scheme of their happiness?
Nothing could be more tender and more prudent. We must also

remember the girl's self-reliant temperament, and the general
unwillingness of women - I mean women of sense - to make a fuss

over matters of that sort.
As has been said already, Heemskirk turned up some time after

Jasper's arrival at Nelson's Cove. The sight of the brig lying
right under the bungalow was very offensive to him. He did not fly

ashore before his anchor touched the ground as Jasper used to do.
On the contrary, he hung about his quarter-deck mumbling to

himself; and when he ordered his boat to be manned it was in an
angry voice. Freya's existence, which lifted Jasper out of himself

into a blissful elation, was for Heemskirk a cause of secret
torment, of hours of exasperated brooding.

While passing the brig he hailed her harshly and asked if the
master was on board. Schultz, smart and neat in a spotless white

suit, leaned over the taffrail, finding the question somewhat
amusing. He looked humorously down into Heemskirk's boat, and

answered, in the most amiable modulations of his beautiful voice:
"Captain Allen is up at the house, sir." But his expression

changed suddenly at the savage growl: "What the devil are you
grinning at?" which acknowledged that information.

He watched Heemskirk land and, instead of going to the house,
stride away by another path into the grounds.

The desire-tormented Dutchman found old Nelson (or Nielsen) at his
drying-sheds, very busy superintending the manipulation of his

tobacco crop, which, though small, was of excellent quality, and
enjoying himself thoroughly. But Heemskirk soon put a stop to this

simple happiness. He sat down by the old chap, and by the sort of
talk which he knew was best calculated for the purpose, reduced him

before long to a state of concealed and perspiring nervousness. It
was a horrid talk of "authorities," and old Nelson tried to defend

himself. If he dealt with English traders it was because he had to
dispose of his produce somehow. He was as conciliatory as he knew

how to be, and this very thing seemed to excite Heemskirk, who had
worked himself up into a heavily breathing state of passion.

"And the worst of them all is that Allen," he growled. "Your
particular friend - eh? You have let in a lot of these Englishmen

into this part. You ought never to have been allowed to settle
here. Never. What's he doing here now?"

Old Nelson (or Nielsen), becoming very agitated, declared that
Jasper Allen was no particular friend of his. No friend at all -

at all. He had bought three tons of rice from him to feed his
workpeople on. What sort of evidence of friendship was that?

Heemskirk burst out at last with the thought that had been gnawing
at his vitals:

"Yes. Sell three tons of rice and flirt three days with that girl
of yours. I am speaking to you as a friend, Nielsen. This won't

do. You are only on sufferance here."
Old Nelson was taken aback at first, but recovered pretty quickly.

Won't do! Certainly! Of course, it wouldn't do! The last man in
the world. But his girl didn't care for the fellow, and was too

sensible to fall in love with any one. He was very earnest in
impressing on Heemskirk his own feeling of absolutesecurity. And

the lieutenant, casting doubting glances sideways, was yet willing
to believe him.