through them an involuntaryshudder. Old Omar collapsed on his
carpet and moaned feebly; Lakamba stared with gloomycontempt in

the direction of the inhuman sound; but Babalatchi, forcing a
smile, pushed his distinguishedprotector through the narrow gate

in the stockade, followed him, and closed it quickly.
The old woman, who had been most of the time kneeling by the

fire, now rose, glanced round fearfully and crouched hiding
behind the tree. The gate of the great courtyard flew open with

a great clatter before a frantic kick, and Willems darted in
carrying Aissa in his arms. He rushed up the enclosure like a

tornado, pressing the girl to his breast, her arms round his
neck, her head hanging back over his arm, her eyes closed and her

long hair nearly touching the ground. They appeared for a second
in the glare of the fire, then, with immense strides, he dashed

up the planks and disappeared with his burden in the doorway of
the big house.

Inside and outside the enclosure there was silence. Omar lay
supporting himself on his elbow, his terrified face with its

closed eyes giving him the appearance of a man tormented by a
nightmare.

"What is it? Help! Help me to rise!" he called out faintly.
The old hag, still crouching in the shadow, stared with bleared

eyes at the doorway of the big house, and took no notice of his
call. He listened for a while, then his arm gave way, and, with

a deep sigh of discouragement, he let himself fall on the carpet.
The boughs of the tree nodded and trembled in the unsteady

currents of the light wind. A leaf fluttered down slowly from
some high branch and rested on the ground, immobile, as if

resting for ever, in the glow of the fire; but soon it stirred,
then soared suddenly, and flew, spinning and turning before the

breath of the perfumed breeze, drivenhelplessly into the dark
night that had closed over the land.

CHAPTER THREE
For upwards of forty years Abdulla had walked in the way of his

Lord. Son of the rich Syed Selim bin Sali, the great Mohammedan
trader of the Straits, he went forth at the age of seventeen on

his first commercialexpedition, as his father's representative
on board a pilgrim ship chartered by the wealthy Arab to convey a

crowd of pious Malays to the Holy Shrine. That was in the days
when steam was not in those seas--or, at least, not so much as

now. The voyage was long, and the young man's eyes were opened
to the wonders of many lands. Allah had made it his fate to

become a pilgrim very early in life. This was a great favour of
Heaven, and it could not have been bestowed upon a man who prized

it more, or who made himself more worthy of it by the unswerving
piety of his heart and by the religious solemnity of his

demeanour. Later on it became clear that the book of his destiny
contained the programme of a wandering life. He visited Bombay

and Calcutta, looked in at the Persian Gulf, beheld in due course
the high and barren coasts of the Gulf of Suez, and this was the

limit of his wanderings westward. He was then twenty-seven, and
the writing on his forehead decreed that the time had come for

him to return to the Straits and take from his dying father's
hands the many threads of a business that was spread over all the

Archipelago: from Sumatra to New Guinea, from Batavia to Palawan.
Very soon his ability, his will--strong to obstinacy--his wisdom

beyond his years, caused him to be recognized as the head of a
family whose members and connections were found in every part of

those seas. An uncle here--a brother there; a father-in-law in
Batavia, another in Palembang; husbands of numerous sisters;

cousins innumerable scattered north, south, east, and west--in
every place where there was trade: the great family lay like a

network over the islands. They lent money to princes, influenced
the council-rooms, faced--if need be--with peaceful intrepidity

the white rulers who held the land and the sea under the edge of
sharp swords; and they all paid great deference to Abdulla,

listened to his advice, entered into his plans--because he was
wise, pious, and fortunate.

He bore himself with the humility becoming a Believer, who never
forgets, even for one moment of his waking life, that he is the

servant of the Most High. He was largely charitable because the
charitable man is the friend of Allah, and when he walked out of

his house--built of stone, just outside the town of Penang--on
his way to his godowns in the port, he had often to snatch his

hand away sharply from under the lips of men of his race and
creed; and often he had to murmur deprecating words, or even to

rebuke with severity those who attempted to touch his knees with
their finger-tips in gratitude or supplication. He was very

handsome, and carried his small head high with meek gravity. His
lofty brow, straight nose, narrow, dark face with its chiselled

delicacy of feature, gave him an aristocratic appearance which
proclaimed his pure descent. His beard was trimmed close and to

a rounded point. His large brown eyes looked out steadily with a
sweetness that was belied by the expression of his thin-lipped

mouth. His aspect was serene. He had a belief in his own
prosperity which nothing could shake.

Restless, like all his people, he very seldom dwelt for many days
together in his splendid house in Penang. Owner of ships, he was

often on board one or another of them, traversing in all
directions the field of his operations. In every port he had a

household--his own or that of a relation--to hail his advent with
demonstrative joy. In every port there were rich and influential

men eager to see him, there was business to talk over, there were
important letters to read: an immensecorrespondence, enclosed

in silk envelopes--a correspondence which had nothing to do with
the infidels of colonial post-offices, but came into his hands by

devious, yet safe, ways. It was left for him by taciturn
nakhodas of native trading craft, or was delivered with profound

salaams by travel-stained and weary men who would withdraw from
his presence calling upon Allah to bless the generous giver of

splendid rewards. And the news was always good, and all his
attempts always succeeded, and in his ears there rang always a

chorus of admiration, of gratitude, of humble entreaties.
A fortunate man. And his felicity was so complete that the good

genii, who ordered the stars at his birth, had not neglected--by
a refinement of benevolence strange in such primitive beings--to

provide him with a desire difficult to attain, and with an enemy
hard to overcome. The envy of Lingard's political and commercial

successes, and the wish to get the best of him in every way,
became Abdulla's mania, the paramount interest of his life, the

salt of his existence.
For the last few months he had been receiving mysterious messages

from Sambir urging him to decisive action. He had found the
river a couple of years ago, and had been anchored more than once

off that estuary where the, till then, rapid Pantai, spreading
slowly over the lowlands, seems to hesitate, before it flows

gently through twenty outlets; over a maze of mudflats, sandbanks
and reefs, into the expectant sea. He had never attempted the

entrance, however, because men of his race, although brave and
adventurous travellers, lack the true seamanlike instincts, and

he was afraid of getting wrecked. He could not bear the idea of
the Rajah Laut being able to boast that Abdulla bin Selim, like

other and lesser men, had also come to grief when trying to wrest
his secret from him. Meantime he returned encouraging answers to

his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited for his opportunity in
the calm certitude of ultimate triumph.

Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for
the first time on the night of Willems' return to Aissa.

Babalatchi, who had been tormented for three days by the fear of
having over-reached himself in his little plot, now, feeling sure

of his white man, felt lighthearted and happy as he superintended
the preparations in the courtyard for Abdulla's reception.

Half-way between Lakamba's house and the river a pile of dry wood
was made ready for the torch that would set fire to it at the

moment of Abdulla's landing. Between this and the house again
there was, ranged in a semicircle, a set of low bamboo frames,