Diamonds

Chapter I

An English girl stood at the Sea Gate of Fort St. George, on the Coromandel coast of India. She wore the dress of the latter part of the seventeenth century. A desolate scene met her eyes. The sea broke in tumultuous waves along the shore. The sun struggled through a bank of mist piercing the warm vapour with narrow beams of light and streaking the Bay of Bengal with lines of silver.

“You are up early, Mistress Armadale,” said a voice at her elbow.

She started and moved back against the heavy iron-bound door, which was set open inside the archway. It was no less a personage than the Governor and President of Fort St. George who spoke.

For two months Elihu Yale had been at the head of the Honourable East India Company’s affairs in the Bay of Bengal, a post he filled successfully without alienating the regard of his old friends, among whom he had served some years as a fellow-worker.

Margery Armadale stood in some awe of the representative of the Company. She replied with a suspicion of trepidation in her voice.

“The storm has been severe, sir. I came out to look at the sea. I heard it roaring and thundering in the night as though it intended to wash our earthworks away and reach the walls.”

Yale’s eyes swept the horizon and noted the white breakers. There were three distinct lines, one behind the other; and for half a mile out to sea the water was a mass of seething foam in which no ship could live.

“The storm has been bad, very bad,” replied Yale “It is one of the worst we have had for some years past; but I think it is over and the sea is going down. Come outside the gate; you will have a better view of the surf.”

They moved beyond the shelter of the gateway. A sudden squall from tire north-east caught Margery and threw her against Yale.

“I beg your pardon!” she cried as she squared herself to the blast.

He gripped her arm firmly.

“Let me help you,” he said as he led her along the pathway.

A great wave rolled in bearing on its crest the spar of a ship. The wave broke and boiled over the smooth wet sand till its foam almost touched their feet. Yale glanced at the walls of the Fort; they were protected only by some earthworks which rested on the sand.

“Fortunately we haven’t much of a tide on these coasts,” he said more to himself than to his companion, who had forgotten her fears of the night in the fascination of the wild scene before her. She looked eagerly to right and left, running her eye over the anchorage in the roads.

“Where are all the ships? A few days ago there were a dozen or more lying off the Fort. I don’t see one.”

Yale’s face became grave as he answered her.

“God grant they are safe! It would be impossible for them to ride out this gale at anchor. They must have put out to sea last night when the wind rose. It came on very suddenly, like all these storms in the East.”

He put a whistle to his lips and blew a loud shrill blast. In response two of his native bodyguard, called peons, came from the Sea Gate.

“Bring me my spy-glass,” he said.

As he spoke Margery noted in the distance a native approaching along the shore from St. Thoma. He was of the fisherman caste, a Muckwa. As he ran across the wet sand with long springing steps the sea lapped round his feet and the wind flecked his brown body with foam.

The peons hurried to meet him. She judged that his news was of an exciting nature, from the dramatic waving of his brown hands as he told his tale. The three men advanced to the big master, and the senior peon repeated the story brought by the fisherman.

“This humble worm carries to the ears of your Excellency bad news. May your Honour forgive him is his humble prayer,” began the peon.

“Yes, yes,” replied Yale, repressing his impatience with difficulty. “What is it? what has happened?”

“The storm has driven two coasting vessels ashore at St. Thoma Point, and a larger one has grounded to the north of the St. Thoma River.”

“What is the name of the larger ship?” asked Yale quickly.

The peon questioned the Muckwa with the arrogance that in those days was shown by the superior to the inferior.

“He says, your Honour, that it is not known. The common people report that it is not one of the Honourable Company’s ships.”

“In other words, it is an interloper,” remarked Yale to Margery, who was listening with concern on her face. “If that be the case, the sands are the best place for it.”

Margery bit her lip to hold back the reply that was on the tip of her tongue, and she tried hard to keep defiance of some kind out of her tone.

“You are a little hard on the independent merchant, sir.”

Yale laughed, and though his reply was of the nature of friendly banter, his eyes rested upon her with a keen scrutiny.

“Ah! you maids are all alike. You have a weakness for the interloper. I believe that even the pirate is not without his attraction in your eyes.”

“There’s a great deal of difference between the two, sir,” cried Margery in defence of the free merchant.

“I’m afraid I don’t see eye to eye with you, Miss Armadale. I am sure that my employers can distinguish very little difference,” replied Yale. Then he added as a second thought: “After all, it doesn’t matter to you. You are not a merchant and have no interest in the interloper or pirate.”

She made no answer; but the colour flew to her cheeks, and her eyes took a light in them that suggested a wish on her part to do battle for the interloper. The arrival of a second messenger diverted Yale’s attention from his companion. The Muckwa fell at his feet in visible trepidation. In the old days before the arrival of the British in India to influence conduct, it was a dangerous thing to be the bearer of ill tidings. The peon interrogated him.

“This man says, your Honour, that one of the big ships belonging to the Company is ashore at St. Thoma Point. The English sailors drown and the sea devours the Honourable Company’s goods.”

Yale was startled out of his complacency. It was one thing to contemplate the destruction of a free merchant’s ship; but it was quite another to hear that one of his own fleet was in peril.

“Pray Heaven that it is not the Borneo!” He turned to Margery. “You had better go back to the Fort at once. If this be the Borneo, steps must be taken immediately to secure anything that may come ashore. St. Thoma is not in our jurisdiction and there maybe trouble over the pilfering.”

Yale left Margery without further delay and hurried away to call some of his council together to consult how best the salving could be done. There was a native ruler in St. Thoma who would seize everything that he and his men could lay their hands upon, unless the English merchants were on the spot to identify and claim their property and take possession of it. Fortunately the Borneo was known to be only half laden. The thought of this fact was of the nature of a consolation to the anxious President. A message was sent by a peon to Mr. Robert Freeman, captain of the Train Band; and to Captain James Bett, Commandant of the garrison.

Margery watched Yale as he hastened through the Sea Gate and disappeared. There was a smile on her compressed lips. It was just as well that the President was too busy to see it.

“So his Honour would class the interloper and the pirate in one category! He must know that there is a wide difference. Or is it that he is wilfully blind?” she said to herself as she stood exposed to the fury of the blast and oblivious of the counsel Yale had offered on his departure “George must be prepared for no mercy if he does fall into the President’s hands. Oh, how I wish be hadn’t come to this coast!”

The scene upon which Margery’s eyes dwelt was desolate in the extreme. In front roared the angry ocean with its lines of impassable breakers reaching far out to sea. Usually there was a stretch of sand between the water and the bulwarks of the Fort. On this memorable Sunday, October 9,!687, a day which has been put on record in the state papers of the Presidency, only a narrow strip of sand was visible. Over it the spent waves pushed up white tongues of foam to the foot of the sea-wall.

To the south the shore was breached by the river. The sluggish stream was beaten back by the waves, and its mud was stirred by the inrush of salt water. Grassy swamps and grey reed-beds bordered the river. Beyond was a long unbroken line of coco-nut palms which shut off all sign of habitation inland.

Midway between the river and the sea stood the fishing hamlet. The round walls of the mud huts were surmounted by conical roofs of palm-leaves. They were of primitive appearance, but they sheltered a sturdy race of men to whom the sea was as familiar as the land. The fishermen’s log boats were as primitive as their dwellings. The boats were formed of three logs lashed together on which the men sat astride with their feet in the water. These so-called boats were drawn high up on the sand close to the huts, and the men were all at home. Some were busy under the shelter of a sandbank mending their nets. Others were inside the evil-smelling huts, sorting and packing dried salt-fish ready for the market as soon as the weather cleared.

It was to these huts that the peons went to find a gang of men who would be able to give assistance in salving the goods from the wreck. They turned out at the bidding of the big master, as they termed the President, and hurried off to St. Thoma at once.

As Margery stood outside the Sea Gate without a thought of returning until she had learned something more of the ship and its fate, several merchants in the service of the Company came through the gate.

Foremost among them strode the veteran Commandant of the garrison, Captain Bett, with his rough following of soldiers. They were all Englishmen; they wore no uniform and observed no military order in their movements; they were quick to respond to the word of command from the sergeant in charge. Ropes and life-saving apparatus, in fashion at that period, were carried ready to be used if necessary.

Close at their heels walked Dr. Burley, the surgeon of the Fort. He bore beneath his arm a small medicine chest containing precious salves and drugs, many of them prepared by himself. With him in attendance was his assistant, known as the surgeon’s mate.

The party followed the path along the edge of the shore till they came to the spot where the river had breached it. The long waves of the sea flowed in, bearing foam which they cast on the ooze of the river bank, ooze that later would give forth offensive odours of dying water-weed killed by the salt water.

The Muckwas launched a surf boat and ferried the party across to the other side. Margery watched them till they were lost in the mist caused by the violence of the breakers. Her heart beat faster than usual. What would they discover in their salving operations? What secrets would the sea reveal? The same thought was in the minds of others as the news spread through the Fort that the Borneo was ashore as well as a large vessel that did not belong to the Company. The small coasting craft did not trouble the Company’s merchants. The ships belonged to native traders who confined their operations to the shores of the Bay of Bengal. The loss sustained might be a serious matter for the owners of the little ships; but it was nothing to be compared with the greater loss connected with the English vessels.

The destruction of the Borneo brought dismay to the members of the council, involving as it did certain loss of life as well as property; but the pecuniary loss fell on the Company and not on the private purses of the Company’s merchants.

The wreck of the other ship was another matter altogether. When it was known that she was the Raven, commanded by Captain Goodwyn, trading independently with the East, the information brought consternation and anxiety to most of the Englishmen in the Fort.

The Company looked with jealous eyes on all free-lances, fearing lest its charter might be infringed. By this charter the King of England sold the exclusive right to import and export goods from the East, to the Directors of the East India Company. If a free and independent merchant wished to trade with the East, he could only do so by paying whatever tax or duty the Directors thought fit to impose. They would consent to carry his merchandise if they had room for it; but the heavy dues for freight, and equally heavy tax absorbed nearly all the profit on the transaction, and left no room for possible loss through accident. The system was not encouraging to the speculator, considering the dangers of the voyage round the Cape.

The captain of the interloper not only asked less for freight, but in addition he was always ready to help the merchant to evade the taxes. Some captains, like the notorious William Alley, whose name figures in the early history of the Eastern trade, refused to recognize the Company’s rights at all. He boldly sailed to and from the East without paying a single farthing; and in return for this disregard the Directors wrote him down as a pirate of the high seas, to be hung as such if caught.

But the interloper was not a pirate. He did not attempt to seize other ships; to pillage and murder and steal vessels belonging to other men. The pirate lived by robbery and did nothing in the way of trading. The interloper was a mild smuggler whose enormities were greatly exaggerated by the jealousy which was inseparable from commerce.

The Company had power to suppress and prosecute the interloper if he was found evading his liabilities. But it was difficult to catch the offender; and still more troublesome to prove that the charter had been infringed. No one was prepared to give evidence of wrong dealings.

The reason was not far to find. The interloper was the friend of every man who served the Company; without his assistance it was impossible for the merchant to put together the wealth which should enable him to return to England and enjoy the fruits of his exile.

Every Englishman who was intent on making a fortune had no alternative but to use the interloper. If the merchant did not actually ship goods by him, he placed sums of money in his hands with which to trade. At the end of the voyage the interloper paid over the profits and the principal to the man who had lent it to him, retaining a sum that amply remunerated him for his trouble. No awkward questions were asked by the recipient as to how the money was made; that was the affair of the interloper and did not concern the owner of the cash. It was in some respects a more satisfactory way of dealing than shipping bales of merchandise. There was no limit to the risk the owner of the ship might take; and no responsibility rested on the man who had advanced the money. With regard to goods there was responsibility with the shipper as well as the captain. If the dues were not fully paid and it came to the ears of the President, trouble of a serious nature might ensue for the merchant as well as the master of the ship. Many a good and useful servant of the Company had been “broke,” as it was called, by the Directors for having dealings with interlopers. They had been dismissed and though they were permitted, by paying for a licence for free-trading, to live in the Fort or in Madras outside the Fort walls, they always rested under suspicion. The Company looked coldly upon them and kept a watchful eye on all their transactions.

The wreck of the Raven meant much to most of the inhabitants of Fort St. George. In her they had lost a useful friend. Many of them had “ventures” with her. There were some ugly possibilities connected with her as well. The party dispatched to salve the cargo of the Borneo would at the same time bring ashore any other bales that might be drawn into their net. The bales would bear the names of the shipping merchants. It could easily be ascertained from an examination of the Company’s books whether the dues had been paid or not.

It was not a matter for surprise therefore that the Fort held many anxious hearts and that the more sanguine hoped that the news of the loss of the Raven was false. The report was of too disturbing a nature to allow of the usual members of the congregation of St. Mary’s church to prepare for the customary service. Master Elliott, the Company’s chaplain, would have to be content with a small congregation that morning.

Chapter II

No sooner had the salving party disappeared in the direction of St. Thoma than a group of men issued from the Sea Gate. Among them were Thomas Wavell, Nathaniel Higgenson and Thomas Yale, the brother of the Governor, all in the employment of the Company. They were dressed for rough weather and not for church. The trio walked ahead of the rest of the company and no attempt was made to join them.

Among those who followed were some of the chief freemen or free merchants of the Fort; Peter Large, Charles Metcalf, John Bridger and William Jearsey. With them were a few of the ladies. The be-frilled Queen Anne frocks which should have been donned for divine service were laid aside, and most of the women wore the ordinary week-day dress, a plain skirt and loose short jacket, which they had adopted in imitation of the Dutch settlers. Men and women strained their eyes in the white misty glare of the morning in the direction of St. Thoma; they could distinguish nothing in addition to that terrible line of breakers with its wide expanse of surf. As Margery joined them they plied her with questions.

“Is it true that two large ships are ashore at St. Thoma?” asked Mrs. Bridger, the wife of the free merchant.

I believe so,” responded Margery.

“Who has brought the news?”

“Two Muckwas. The President was out here when they arrived. He sent a salvage party immediately under Captain Bett.”

“It is reported in the Fort among the peons that one of the ships is the Borneo. Is that the case?” asked Mrs. Bridger, her large dark eyes full of anxiety.

“I am afraid that it is so,” replied Margery, turning away; she feared that other questions might follow which would not be so easy to answer.

Mrs. Bridger was not to be put off. She followed, grasping the strings of her hood and tightening them to prevent the wind from carrying the hood away.

“Tell me, child, what do they say is the name of the second ship?”

Margery was not to be caught. She quickened her pace southwards and Mrs. Bridger, buffeted by the cyclone, gave up the pursuit and went back to her husband. She repeated her question in his ear.

“It is not known for certain, but——” He paused, reluctant to put his fears into words.

“Yes? Go on!” she gasped with impatience born of suspense.

“They say that it is Captain Goodwyn’s ship, the Raven.” She clasped her hands together with a gesture of dismay “If it is so, it means five thousand pounds of money lost to us for ever! Oh dear! oh dear!”

“Hush, wife. Best keep the tongue quiet. If it’s gone, ’tis gone and bemoaning its loss won’t bring it back.”

Mrs. Bridger was not disposed to be as philosophical as her husband. She had confidently reckoned on this venture by the Raven providing her with the means of returning to England the following year. Her motherly heart ached to see the children she had sent home to England some few years before.

“Five thousand pounds—the savings of eight years or more! Oh! husband, was there ever such a piece of bad luck? We counted the Raven to be as stout a ship as ever sailed; as stout as any in the Company’s fleet!”

“So she was,” replied the merchant shortly. Although he was inclined to take his bad luck with the true spirit of the courageous British adventurer, he could not regard his loss with indifference. He not only felt it himself, but he felt it even more keenly for his wife. She had stood by him bravely when the pull came over the little people; she had let them go without her so that she might stay and look after his welfare. It was often a matter of life or death whether a man was properly cared for or not. Together they had intended to make the trip home, carrying with them their five thousand pounds in merchandise. This, added to what had already been sent to England and invested there, would have brought them within sight of retirement.

Mrs. Bridger dried her eyes and after a short silence remarked:

“Jearsey will tell us that it is a judgment on us for not having shipped our goods with the Company.”

“We should have fared no better with the Borneo,” he replied in an even voice “I paid the dues on most of the merchandise that I shipped. I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued with an unconscious lifting of the chin.

“All the same, Master Yale looks with suspicion on all freemen who don’t ship with the Company,” said Mrs. Bridger with some bitterness. “There was a time when the President himself——”

Her husband raised a warning finger and checked the words on her lips. He desired to live in peace with the authorities of Fort St. George. That peace must not be imperilled by the chattering of a woman.

“We are not justified in believing a slander of that kind. Where men in power are concerned, a short memory is best.”

Her disappointment was too great to allow of silence on her part. She felt impelled to speak what was in her mind. It was the only means of finding consolation.

“I should think none the worse of him if he had been tempted to play the same tricks in the past as we play now. We are all driven to it when we first come out. There is no harm in it.”

“H’m! yes; it seems fair enough from our point of view. All the same, it isn’t for people situated as we are to say anything against the President.”

“I’ll warrant that his brother Thomas had a venture with Captain Goodwyn and will fare no better than we have done. Aye, and Peter Large and Charlie Metcalf as well!” continued his wife.

“Probably, but I don’t know,” said the cautious free merchant.

“And Kitty Nicks,” added Mrs. Bridger.

Her husband smiled good-humouredly. If his wife must talk of free-trading he preferred that she should do so about her neighbours rather than about their own transactions.

“Trust our old friend, Mrs. Nicks, for having a finger in any gold pie that is going!” he said.

A handsome young matron came up behind the speaker and caught him by the arm, giving him a playful little shake. He turned in surprise.

“Mrs. Nicks!” he exclaimed “I thought you were in Cuddalore with your husband!”

“So I was a few days ago, but I have come up to Fort St. George on business. What was that you were saying about my finger being in every pie?”

He was slightly taken aback by her challenge; but reassured by the roguish twinkle in her eye lifted boldly to his, he replied:

“Madam, I said nothing but what was to your credit, if you will believe me. Your finger sweetens every pie it touches.”

“For shame! an old married man like you! paying me such compliments! What is your wife about in not keeping you in better order? But I am dying to hear what particular pie you say that my finger has been in lately.”

“A golden one, if report tells the truth, of Captain Goodwyn’s making on board the Raven. I’m afraid it was only a promise. The storm has brought it to naught.”

Mrs. Nicks grew serious at the mention of the interloper’s ship.

“Yes; I fear the pie is spoilt in the baking this time. Even if the goods come ashore, who can take possession of them? Every man is needed, soldier, peon and Muckwa, to help in salving the goods of the Company from the sea and guarding them from the thieving grasp of the natives of St. Thoma.”

“Then you, also, had something on board the Raven?” asked Mrs. Bridger.

“I had; and a pretty large venture, too.”

“Did you pay your dues?”

Mrs. Nicks pursed up her lips and tossed her head while the colour in her cheek deepened. There was something very attractive in the emotional face, and Bridger gazed at her with an admiration which he could not hide. His wife knew him too well to resent it. On the contrary, she shared his opinion as to the charms of Kitty Nicks.

“Not I!” she cried in reply to Bridger’s question. After a slight pause, during which she cast caution to the winds, she continued: “I don’t mind admitting that I did not pay half the dues; nay, nor a quarter of what the Company claims!”

Mrs. Bridger heard her in astonishment while her husband raised his eyebrows.

“A bold admission!” he remarked gravely.

Mrs. Nicks’s eyes flashed angrily as she went on with a recklessness that seemed to court trouble.

“I am no coward! I am not afraid of letting the world know my opinion! I object altogether to the imposition of the Company’s taxes; and I consider them most unjust.”

“That is a matter on which you and the Directors differ widely,” Bridger answered.

“Differ, indeed!” she cried with warmth “I will go further and vow that their conduct is shameful. Listen! This is what they do! They send men out here to risk their lives in the tropics; to work like slaves; to garner gold, while they sit at home in ease and luxury. What is the reward they offer in return for the risk to life and health? A miserable pittance! Look at my husband! For nearly twenty years he has been slaving for them. What do they pay him! The noble sum of fifty pounds a year! Think of it! Fifty pounds a year!”

She laughed scornfully. She saw that she had Mrs. Bridger with her. She was not so sure about the free merchant.

“It is a mean contemptible salary,” admitted Bridger in a low voice, afraid lest he should be overheard.

“You were a lucky man, John Bridger, when you broke with such hard task-masters. You came out the same year as my husband. You had ten pounds as your salary. Half of it was paid in this country; the other half was held back by the Directors to be paid at their convenience in England to your relations; or to be confiscated as a fine if they suspected you of breaking their arbitrary and unjust rules. After twelve years’ service what were you drawing as salary? A poor seventy pounds a year, of which only half reached your hands in this country!”

“Matters have mended for us since we left the Company’s service, Kitty,” observed Mrs. Bridger not without satisfaction in her tone.

“Left the Company’s service!” repeated Mrs. Nicks, her eyes sparkling with anger “You were dismissed; you were turned out of the service without a thank-ye, or by-your-leave! That was your reward for helping to gather in the golden harvest. The rules and laws made by this despotic grasping band of idle stay-at-homes, who call themselves Directors, decree, contrary to all Scripture teaching, that the ox and the ass shall be muzzled. Not a grain of the enormous wealth for which men serve through the heat of the day is to be theirs, forsooth! Yet all round us we see the Dutch, the French, the Portuguese, the Dane, aye! even the Armenian and the Moor free to trade where they will. What is the Company’s charter to them? They laugh it to scorn.”

She glanced from one to the other. On the face of her old friend Mrs. Bridger she read approval and warm sympathy. On that of the more cautious husband she noted that there was an absence of all approval of her outspoken criticisms of the men who had once been his masters.

“Well, John Bridger? what have you to say to that?” she asked in a voice that held a challenge.

“What you state may be true,” he admitted “But you must allow that the Company permits its servants to trade inland. There’s money to be made in firewood, rice, straw, chillies, salt, coriander-seed and building materials?”

“——And one or two other commodities that I could mention if I chose,” she added significantly. Then her scorn broke forth once more “But what are these? They are petty fragments, crumbs, trifles not worthy of the Directors’ notice. And if perchance a merchant apply himself diligently to the gathering of these crumbs and morsels and puts together a little wealth with honest toil against his old age, what do the Directors say? ‘He has shown more diligence in his own affairs than in theirs.’ ‘He must have used their capital for he could have none of his own.’ ‘He surely must have transgressed their charter in some way or he could never have amassed so many pagodas.’ As soon as a merchant, be he free or a servant of the Company, has a little money to his name, he is regarded with suspicion and distrust; and their outrageous charter is flourished in his face. These are corrupt times, indeed! when a sovereign can sell the freedom of his subjects thus unrighteously.”

Kitty Nicks did not attempt to lower her voice, and Bridger glanced round uneasily to note if any of the company on the shore were listening. He had no wish to be a party to the expression of treasonable sentiments. The mere fact of listening to such talk might compromise him.

“Have a care, Mrs. Nicks!” he said in a low voice “Though my wife and I are your friends, you can’t rely on the whole community for friendship. Don’t forget that you have been the cause of some jealousy among the men who are not as successful as yourself in their ventures.”

His warning recalled Mrs. Nicks to herself. The anger which had flamed up so suddenly was as quickly quenched and her merry laugh sounded a cheerful careless note that was characteristic of her.

“Good old friend! but I assure you that you need not fear for me. Master Yale knows the length of my tongue and how it runs away with me. He will only warn me, as he has often warned me before, that he will have to indent on the Company for a scold’s bridle. Ah! there is Mrs. Jearsey. I am her guest. I shall see you both again.”

She moved towards a stout Dutch lady, who was gazing round her with a stolid expression in which neither wonder nor anxiety, nor even curiosity found place.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jearsey,” cried Kitty Nicks “I asked for you before I came out, but your servant told me that you were still in your room. I hope I did not disturb your sleep.”

“I was up and out of bed. As a rule I don’t come out of my room till much later than this. Something seems to have happened this morning to disturb everybody including our Margery. Have you seen the child anywhere?”

She spoke with a foreign accent and pronounced the girl’s name “Morgery.”

“I haven’t seen her. She is probably at the end of the bulwark under the shelter of the south wall. Shall I go and find her for you?”

“Presently; but first tell me what has happened.”

Mrs. Nicks related all she knew of the double catastrophe at St. Thoma. Mrs. Jearsey listened without emotion, grunting now and then to show that she was interested.

“Your husband has nothing on board either of the ships, I suppose?” asked Mrs. Nicks, keenly scrutinizing the expressionless features of the Dutchwoman.

“No; Jearsey contents himself with the country trade; he never troubles himself with this interloping business.”

“And Piet, what of him?”

“Ah, the good boy! He follows his uncle’s example, and trades in the country along the coast. He has two ships that go across the Bay and carry goods to Java and Sumatra.”

She smiled a fat placid smile as she contemplated the rectitude of husband and nephew. She had no children and Piet was as a son to her.

“Are you going to church this morning?” asked Kitty.

Mrs. Jearsey shook her head.

“I will stay at home; and Piet, he will read his Bible to me when the church bell stops ringing. It pleases me better than sitting on the narrow seat of the pew. Do go and look for Morgery. Tell her she must come in out of this damp air. The heavy moisture will give her fever.”

Mrs. Jearsey waddled back through the Sea Gate and disappeared from view. Mrs. Nicks looked after her with a touch of contempt. Although she was accepting the Dutchwoman’s hospitality she could not help thinking that the good lady was exactly like a Dutch lugger rolling back to harbour with a goodly catch of fish aboard.

Then with one of her sudden fits of compunction Kitty Nicks hurried off towards the spot where she had last seen Margery standing.

Chapter III

Margery Armadale was an orphan and Jearsey’s ward. She was barely nineteen; and, though the only child of her parents, she was no great heiress. Her little fortune was being carefully nursed against her coming of age. Out of the income Jearsey was able to make her an allowance that was ample for all her personal needs.

If her father had lived he would doubtless have amassed considerable wealth; but he was sent to Sumatra on the Company’s business and fell a victim to the pernicious climate before he had time or opportunity to build up a fortune. He left his motherless daughter to the care of his old friend Jearsey.

The kind-hearted merchant gave her a warm welcome and begged her to look upon his house as her home. Mrs. Jearsey in her solid way added her voice to her husband’s in full accord with his wishes. The Dutch lady had strong maternal instincts that prompted her to gather young people round her; not that she might enjoy their society intellectually, but for the pure pleasure of ministering to their physical wants. To sit at a loaded table and see her husband acting the generous host was a delight. She paid no heed to the conversation that went on around her. Her attention was drawn to what they were eating and the pleasure they found in the food. She was therefore well satisfied with the arrangement, and in her way became attached to the English girl.

Margery accepted Jearsey’s offer gratefully; and when the sharpness of her grief at the loss of her father had worn away, she was not unhappy.

There was a third person who entered largely into Margery’s life after she went to live with the Jearsey’s. This was Piet Vandenberg, Mrs. Jearsey’s nephew. Under Jearsey’s wing he had successfully established himself as a free merchant in Madras, trading with the usual licence from the Company. Jearsey pressed him to enter the Company’s service, but Piet was firm in his refusal to apply for an appointment as a Writer. He urged that he was a Dutchman born and bred, and there was very little hope of obtaining the desired post. He was well content, he said, to trade as a free merchant; and his pride forbade him to risk the refusal he was morally certain would come. Jearsey dropped the subject when he found that neither Piet nor his aunt had any desire for a change in his condition.

Piet Vandenberg was a good-looking man of stout build. His figure was given to flesh rather than muscle. The easy life of the East had a tendency to encourage a stoutness in him that was not indicative of physical strength. His regular features and mild expression inspired confidence in European and native alike. A religious turn of mind that came naturally added insensibly to the general impression that Piet was a very estimable person. Margery was reckoned to be a fortunate girl to have won his love.

Piet had a house in the Blacktown, the native quarter outside the walls of the Fort. It was large and substantially built with thick walls calculated to withstand the furious cyclones that occasionally swept in from the sea. Attached to it were warehouses in which were stored the products of the country in which he dealt. He had his own wharf, his little fleet of surf boats and his country ships.

The ships were built near Masulipatam by native shipwrights. They were anything between fifty and a hundred and fifty tons and they were peculiarly adapted to the heavy seas of the Bay of Bengal. Nothing but a cyclone such as had just occurred endangered their existence.

Jearsey and his wife were never tired of expressing their satisfaction that their nephew kept clear of the interloper and succeeded in making money over the legitimate inland trade. He was often at their house during the day. He was therefore thrown frequently into the society of Margery, and no one was surprised when the engagement was announced.

Piet was undoubtedly in love in his phlegmatic way; but Margery was too young and inexperienced to know what love meant when she accepted his offer. There were not many Englishmen in the Fort and only one or two of those were unmarried; none was as good-looking as the Dutchman who added wealth to his other attractions. In addition to a real affection that he had for Margery, Piet could not help being influenced to a certain extent by the thought that she was not penniless. Her little bit of money could be put to good use. It would provide him with yet another country ship to open out commercial relations with one of the ports in Java where the Dutch had a settlement.

The Company’s council regarded Jearsey’s nephew with favour. In him they had an example of what might be done if a man stuck strictly to legitimate trade and had no “truck,” as they called it, with the interloper. They had no objection to his presence in the Fort and regarded him without the shadow of a suspicion, a fact that gratified the Jearseys more than a little.

Mrs. Nicks in her search for Margery picked her way daintily over the wet sand. She was graceful in all her movements. Though she was the mother of four children, one of whom was dead, she preserved her youthful figure as well as her youthful mind. She gave due consideration to that important item in a woman, her dress. In spite of the difficulty of communication with home, the absence of the parcel post and mails of any kind to bring her fashion papers and patterns, she always managed to look smart. No matter at what time of the day people dropped in, she was never otherwise than neat and trim, a pleasant vision for the eye of the exiled man of her race whose own wife in that enervating climate had become careless of appearances.

This morning she wore a muslin gown over a frilled petticoat. Her hair was dressed in short curls close to her head. It was partially hidden under a quilted hood of black satin lined with scarlet. The touch of colour was becoming and the eyes of more than one Englishman followed her with approval as she threaded her way through the crowd towards the south bastion.

By this time a large number of people had gathered on the shore outside the Sea Gate. The slaves from many of the English houses followed their masters, and there was a sprinkling of topazes—soldiers of mixed Portuguese and native blood—as well as a number of the inhabitants of Blacktown. The sea was going down fast and the earthworks were no longer threatened by the waves. The clouds broke into fragments allowing broader gleams of sunlight to spread over the tumbling water.

Mrs. Nicks found Margery where she anticipated. She was practically alone in her sheltered position. The girl’s eyes were fixed upon the southern horizon.

“What do you see, Margery?” asked Mrs. Nicks, eyeing her with a newly awakened interest as something in her attitude roused her curiosity.

“Nothing, nothing! I wish we could see something; but we are too far off,” replied Margery in a voice that was not quite steady.

“Even if we were near enough to have a view there would not be much to look at but a wreck, and perhaps a poor dead sailor; no fit sight for a girl like you.”

“They say that one of the ships is the Raven. Oh, it can’t be true! She was such a big strong ship! She must have run before the gale and be safely anchored in Trincomalee harbour by this time.”

“Unfortunately it is quite true; but why need you be so troubled? You had no venture with Captain Goodwyn surely? Mr. Jearsey would never allow your small portion to be placed, dues or no dues, on the Raven.”

Margery recovered her self-possession with an effort as she replied,

“Oh, no! I have nothing on the Raven. The wreck of the ship does not concern me personally.”

“Then why agitate yourself?”

“I can’t help thinking of the poor men who were on board and who must have been drowned. Just look at that surf! How could any living being come safely through it?” Again her voice trembled slightly as though the tears were not far off.

“Pray don’t think of the seamen and take their fate so much to heart. Pity them by all means if you like; but don’t grieve over them as if they were your brothers. Come home to your aunt. She sent me with a message to say that she wanted you. How long have you been out?”

“Since daybreak. The storm came on between one and two in the morning. We had to get up and make all the shutters fast. You helped us yourself.”

“Didn’t you sleep afterwards?” asked Mrs. Nicks, her eyes upon the girl once more.

“Not much; the storm frightened me; I could not sleep. As soon as the dawn came I dressed and slipped out to the Sea Gate. The President joined me. He too was anxious, I am sure.”

“The President!” Kitty repeated “Surely he hasn’t anything aboard the Raven!

“From the way in which he spoke of the interloper, classing him with the pirate, he can’t have much to do with ships like the Raven. I am not sure that he wasn’t pleased to hear of its wreck.”

Mrs. Nicks remained silent. Her thoughts had gone to other matters that were not concerned with Margery’s affairs. The sound of St. Mary’s Church bell roused her.

“Hark! There’s the first bell for service!”

She made a movement as if to go to the Sea Gate, but an exclamation from Margery arrested her. At the same moment there was a stir among the crowd on the shore. Tongues were set going and fingers, white and brown, pointed to a party of men approaching from the south.

The figures moved in a knot; it was evident that they carried something. They reached the ferry boat and lifted their burden over the gunwales. They carried two loads on stretchers. The Muckwas pressed forward towards the river-bank unheedful of the spongy swamp and black ooze beneath their feet. Already a murmur ran through the assembly. The stretchers could mean but one thing, victims of the fury of the sea.

The boat was paddled across with difficulty in the teeth of the wind. It touched the northern shore and in an instant a dozen hands were stretched out to secure it. A dozen more were ready to assist in lifting two sodden burdens from the bottom of the boat.

“What have you there?” was a question put by many lips.

“Two drowned men. One of them swam boldly till he reached the breakers. Then the waves beat him about and he was thrown up lifeless at our feet as we stood there on the sand.”

The reply surprised no one. In the hearts of some was a ray of thankfulness that the poor creatures had come ashore at all. The waters were infested with sharks at times. Perhaps to-day it was a little too rough for them close in shore. The bodies were reverently laid on the grass for a few minutes while news was given of what was passing at St. Thoma.

Margery pushed forward with the rest in spite of her companion’s effort to draw her away. The bearers had covered the faces of the drowned men with handkerchiefs that were saturated with salt water. She stooped and lifted the corner of one and exposed the face of an elderly sailor. He was naked to the waist; his lower garments were made of the coarse Indian material called dungaree which the Company served out to the crews of their ships. She shuddered as she replaced the cloth. There was no doubt that the poor man was dead.

Mrs. Nicks laid a detaining hand on her arm with a half-uttered remonstrance. It was unheeded; probably unheard. With an impetuous and determined movement she freed herself from Kitty’s grasp. She seized the corner of the kerchief thrown over the other body and snatched it aside.

It struck the cheek of the man as it swept across his face. To the horror of the staring crowd who watched her action, the supposed corpse slowly opened its eyes and fastened them with a puzzled expression upon Margery. He was a young man of about twenty-eight years of age. Margery dropped the kerchief with a stifled scream and covered her face with her hands.

“Poor child! It was enough to frighten anyone!” said Mrs. Bridger, who, clinging to her husband’s side, found a place in the circle of gazers.

“The man is alive, God be praised!” said John Bridger “Lift him and carry him into the Fort quickly.”

His order was obeyed with alacrity by the waiting fishermen who knew the liberality of the free merchant.

“Dr. Burley said he was dead, sir,” remarked the corporal who was in charge of the bearers.

“He was only stunned by the waves,” replied Bridger.

“Who is he?” asked Mrs. Nicks, to whom the face was unfamiliar.

“An Englishman without doubt,” replied Peter Large, finding that Bridger made no reply.

“His dress is not that of a sailor,” said Mrs. Nicks, her curiosity once more dominant.

“From what ship is he supposed to have come?” asked Large of the corporal.

“From the Borneo, sir.”

“Can any of you recognize him?” he inquired, looking round.

No one answered; a few shook their heads as though they were at a loss to know who it was.

“Strange!” cried Kitty Nicks with a smile of incredulity. “Very strange that none of you should know him. However, he is not dead, and we will hope that in a few hours he will be able to answer our questions himself. You had better get him into the Fort as quickly as possible, Mr. Bridger. If I can be of any assistance don’t forget that I am at your service.”

Her words seemed to restore the activity of the men who were able to exercise authority. Bridger himself took the lead which no one seemed inclined to dispute. It was against the rules of the Company to receive strangers into their houses as guests or residents without permission. The man who offered hospitality to an unknown stranger was liable to be called upon by the council to give a full and detailed account of his guest and show that he had had leave to introduce him.

Mrs. Bridger walked by the side of the stretcher on which the young man was laid. He had relapsed into unconsciousness; and, if they wished to save his life, action must be taken to restore the circulation of the blood and counteract the evil effects of the sea water which he must have swallowed.

The sailor was carried close behind. His destination was the little room devoted to the dead, where he would await the speedy burial that is inevitable in tropical climates.

The greater part of the crowd, satisfied that there was nothing more to be seen or heard on the beach, followed Bridger and his wife. The corporal was closely questioned. He confirmed the tale they had already heard. The Borneo was wrecked and the Raven was sharing the same fate. The waves were washing across both the ships and it was expected that they would go to pieces before the sun set.

Higgenson, Metcalf and the Governor’s brother did not go back to the Fort with the rest. After a short consultation they entered the boat and were ferried across the river. The St. Thoma beach with its flotsam and jetsam had more attraction for them than the Fort. Only Margery and Mrs. Nicks remained. Margery had turned away from her friend and gave no answer to a remark made by Kitty. The latter slipped a hand in the girl’s arm.

“Now, Margery, what is the meaning of these tears? Don’t tell me that you are not crying. I must believe my eyes. You are sorry for him? Of course you are; so am I! That’s not the solution of the mystery. Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” came the faltering answer in a voice that did not carry conviction.

“He is known to you if not to anyone else,” asserted Kitty in a decisive manner that would brook no denial “Does he belong to the Borneo?”

“No! Yes! Oh, I don’t know!” cried Margery, her tears, flowing unrestrained in her distress.

“Poor little girl!” said Kitty softly.

Pity accomplished what a dozen questions failed to effect. When Margery’s sobs had died down and she could speak coherently, she hid her face in Kitty’s snowy crossover kerchief and whispered:

“Yes! yes! I do know him; but I cannot—I must not tell.”

Mrs. Nicks pressed her no further. She would be able to glean the information she wanted all in good time from the Bridgers.

“Come home, child; you want your breakfast. If he is a friend of yours, thank God that he has escaped the waves and the sharks. Dry your eyes. It won’t do to let your aunt and Piet see that you have been weeping over the misfortunes of a perfect stranger. They might think that your sympathy went a little too far.”

Jearsey’s house, whither Mrs. Nicks and her companion were bound, stood on the north-west side of the Fort. It was one of the oldest, having been built by Henry Greenhill when the English merchants entered into possession of their very first piece of Indian territory in 1640. It faced the east, its front opening on the street and its back premises running down to the river. A wall shut out the river and secured the privacy of the yard and the garden. There was a sally-port or door in the wall and Jearsey had built a small landing-place just outside, where goods were loaded on barges for country trade inland or unloaded for the use of the residents in the Fort.

Yale had warned Jearsey more than once that the use of the sally-port was prohibited by the council; the opening being dangerous to the safety of the Fort, should it be attacked from the river. The free merchant assured the President that the door was always kept locked except at such times during the day when he himself was there to superintend the loading of the boats.

He also pointed out the strength of the massive teak door studded with iron bosses. In addition to its being protected by the river it was quite strong enough to resist attack by a hostile native force. Yale was sufficiently satisfied not to press for the walling up of the doorway, and Jearsey’s arrangements for his inland trade were not disturbed.

The walls of the house were four feet thick and the roof was flat. The lower rooms looked out into the street and were dark and close. One was used for an office; but the others were packed almost to their ceilings with merchandise of every description. There was broad cloth from England, purchased from the Company; cotton goods from Cuddalore; pepper from Java; chests of tea from China. All were sorted and carefully stored ready for shipping.

Jearsey was proud of his stores; he was also proud of the fact that he shipped with the Company and paid its dues to the last farthing; It had not always been so; but since he had married and settled down, which was some years before the date of the memorable cyclone, he had given up illicit trading.

Behind the storerooms were the kitchens and servants’ quarters. Mrs. Jearsey had all the love of a Dutchwoman for servants and slaves. Nothing delighted her more, when she went abroad to pay her visits, than to be followed by six or seven gaudily dressed retainers; fat women, who did little else but pick up gossip for their mistress.

The lower part of the house facing the garden formed a perfect rabbit warren full of natives who were fed and clothed at the expense of the rich merchant.

The family lived upstairs, where the sea breezes blew through the fine open rooms and there was plenty of light and air.

Adjoining Jearsey’s house was Bridger’s. It was not as large nor as spacious, although it was built in the same substantial style with thick walls and a terraced roof.

The second bell for the morning service ceased ringing as the bearers deposited their burdens before Bridger’s door. The crowd that followed through the Sea Gate dispersed and Bridger was alone with his wife and the corporal in command of the bearers. She drew her husband aside and lilted an anxious face to his.

“It is a risk, John. We shall get into the black books of the President if he comes to find out who it is,” she said in his ear.

“You must make shift to put up with it, Winifred,” he replied in a decided tone “Nor shall the corpse be carried to that hovel of a dead-house to be buried in this condition. The chaplain will most likely take the funeral this afternoon; and you must have the man laid out like a Christian. It is the last kind office we can do for him.”

“And the other man; what’s to be done with him?” she asked with increasing disquietude.

“I’ll shelter him too,” replied the good-hearted merchant with a finality that left his wife no alternative but to carry out his wishes. “Ho, there! Joseph! Jacob! Ezekiel! you lazy scoundrels! where are you?”

Several servants came running from the back of the house at the sound of their master’s voice. By his order the dead sailor was laid on a table in the office downstairs; while the young man who was showing signs of returning consciousness, was carried to an upper room and placed on a bed.

There he was left in the skilful hands of Mrs. Bridger and her women. Like every good house-wife of those days, she knew something of domestic medicine and home nursing. It was not long before she had her patient in dry clothes and able to take a warm posset that restored his senses.

The sky was still cloudy though the storm had spent itself. Bridger stood at the window of his parlour, as he called the room that served as dining-room as well as sitting-room. He looked at the fleeting clouds and then at his watch. The long morning service had only just commenced. No chance of seeing the chaplain yet awhile. He sighed, for the storm had cost him dear.

“People will probably say that it is a judgment on me; yet I can’t see that I have done any man a wrong. My neighbour Jearsey would tell me that I was wrong to have dealings with an interloper. He declares that it pays better to fall in with the Company’s demands than to try and evade them. He ought to know; for he has tried both ways.”

He went to the cellarette and helped himself to a glass of Armenian wine and a piece of cake. Having thus refreshed himself he retired to his dressing-room and presently emerged wearing the Oriental turban and a long cotton coat.

It was the semi-native costume which had been adopted generally throughout the East by all Europeans alike, Portuguese, Dutch, English and French. Pith topees and sun hats were unknown. The dress of the period was ill-suited to the heat and dust of the tropics. It was only worn on special occasions when some function, public or social, demanded it. During the hot hours of the day the Mohammedan cotton coat and pyjamas were far more comfortable than European costume; and the turban did away with the necessity of wearing the large flowing wig which was then the fashion. As every one adopted the dress from the President downwards, it looked neither strange nor eccentric. So general had it become that an order had been issued not many years previously by the Council forbidding it in church or on parade.

Bridger descended to the ground floor and looked into the office. Two of his wife’s women were busy preparing the dead man for his burial. He gravely nodded approval as they glanced up at him; then he turned out into the street.

At that moment Mrs. Nicks issued from Jearsey’s house.

“Oh, Mr. Bridger, is that you? I hope the poor stranger has recovered. It was a marvellous escape.”

Bridger kept his lips closed; but Kitty was not to be put off by any show of reserve on his part.

“He is a handsome youth. Who is he?” she asked.

“That I cannot tell you.”

“Where is he now—in the hospital?”

Very reluctantly he replied: “He is lying in my house at this present moment and my wife is attending to him.”

“Oh!” said Kitty, quite satisfied “Good morning, Mr. Bridger. Don’t let me detain you.”

She gave him one of her sweetest smiles which entirely effaced the momentary vexation he felt at her questions; and turned back into Jearsey’s house. From the veranda she watched the free merchant till he was out of sight. No sooner had he disappeared than she came into the street once more, and turned into Bridger’s house. She ran up the broad handsome staircase which led her into the central landing. She called Mrs. Bridger softly. Winifred came out of a bedroom at the farther end.

“Dear heart alive!” cried Kitty with warm sympathy “So you have him here. How good of you not to send the poor fellow to hospital.”

“It was my husband’s doing,” replied Mrs. Bridger, as though she wished to shift all responsibility for the action on to other shoulders than her own.

“Yes! so I understand from him. I met him just now as he was going out, and he has just been telling me. How is the boy getting on?”

“Finely, my dear; but I tremble for the consequences. If John has told you all about him I need not hold my tongue.”

Mrs. Bridger seemed relieved that she was not under the obligation of keeping the matter secret; yet she was habitually cautious and was not disposed to give any further information than her husband had vouchsafed.

“What is his name?” asked Mrs. Nicks “Your husband was in a hurry and did not mention it.”

“He has gone to make arrangements for the burial of the sailor. We have got the body downstairs in the office. John wouldn’t allow it “

“Yes, dear, I know. I heard him give the order on the beach. What did you say the boy’s name was?”

“Ah! that’s his secret which we are supposed not to know.”

“Margery has met him,” said Mrs. Nicks at a venture, but speaking in a tone that sounded as if she were stating a fact.

“Of course she has! and in this very house, too. But not a word to the Dutchman or there will be trouble. A handsome man draws the maids like a magnet. And he is much taken with pretty Margery. I have told him over and over again that she is promised to another and it is no use his thinking about her.”

“May I just look in for a minute and see him?” asked Kitty with some eagerness.

Mrs. Bridger shook her head.

“He has fallen asleep and I must go back lest some of those silly women disturb him.”

Winifred slipped noiselessly into the room and closed the door behind her. This was a check to Kitty’s curiosity, which only made her the more determined to find out the identity of the stranger. She was a true sportsman to the tips of her fingers, and thoroughly enjoyed the prospect of unravelling the mystery of the presence of a good-looking young stranger in the Fort. Visitors in those days were rare at any time even in the shipping season. Here was one out of season and from all appearance unexpected. Yet he was known to one or two who for some reason or other were unwilling to reveal his identity.

The situation was full of romance as well as mystery.

Chapter IV

Fort St. George at this period was still in its infancy. Half a century earlier there was nothing but a bare strip of sand. In the short space of forty-seven years a walled town sprang up covering some fourteen acres of ground. The sea protected it on one side. On the other the river acted as a moat, although it could not be called by that name. It was too shallow to form any protection against attack. Outside the walls of the Fort to the north was the native town of Madras, better known to the Englishmen as the Blacktown.

In the centre stood the Company’s house, recognized as the Fort St. George House. Here were lodged the unmarried men of the Company’s service. In addition to the bachelors’ quarters the Fort House contained a dining-hall, sitting-rooms and a council chamber with offices attached where the writers and clerks sat.

Twice a day the Englishmen in the Company’s employment, married and unmarried, assembled for the two chief meals of the day, midday dinner and eight o’clock supper. The Governor presided at the common table, proposing the health of the Honourable Company when the cloth was removed. His presence acted as a wholesome restraint on the younger men, whose tongues loosened and manners slackened under the influence of the Company’s excellent Madeira.

The Fort House of those days had four turrets which were armed with cannon. They commanded the whole of the Fort; and no house was permitted to be above a certain height lest it should interfere with the range of the guns. The Company’s flag floated over the east turret and was a conspicuous mark for the landsman as well as the sailor.

The building contained four doors. One of these was connected with the Sea Gate by an open paved way, which was covered with a roof supported on pillars to shelter it from the weather. Each weekday this thoroughfare presented a busy scene. Under its shade the English merchant met the native trader to discuss the preliminaries of the bartering which afterwards occupied the attention of the council. Samples might be brought but not goods in bulk.

Elihu Yale had entered the Company’s service as a writer in the usual manner. After fifteen years he found himself at the head of the Fort St. George settlement under the title of “Agent and Governor, Commander-in-Chief of the Company’s Forces and President of the Council,” a position that he filled ably and creditably.

He came of a good old Welsh family. By a curious chance he was born in Newhaven in the United States of America, where his parents happened to be on business. When the business came to an end he was taken to England and was educated there.

He arrived at Fort St. George in the year 1672 and was then over thirty years of age. He rose steadily from writer to the highest position attainable in India; and during that time he put by a very considerable fortune. As usual the accumulation of wealth by one of their merchants roused the jealousy and suspicion of the Directors. His predecessors had undergone the same experience. Some of them took the trouble to clear their names; but others were indifferent to the slander, since the Directors were quite unable to deprive them of their riches.

In later life Yale went back to the land of his birth. He is associated for all succeeding ages with the university which he founded and endowed, and which is known by his name.

Yale possessed a quick impatient temper which was often roused on behalf of his employers’ interests. He may have had other faults; but no one could accuse him of being selfish or thoughtless where the poor were concerned. To European and native alike he was charitable and kind; and for both communities he did his best. It might be said of him that he was one who loved his fellow-men.

The President was expected to set a good example in observing Sunday. Nothing but illness could keep him away from his pew of state. There, surrounded by his council, he sat keeping his eye on his subordinates. The state pew was in the gallery at the west end of St. Mary’s Church; the pew is gone but the gallery may still be seen with its beautiful carving. Yale had assisted in the building of the church and had been present at its consecration in 1680. Only a few weeks after it was opened Yale led his bride from the altar. She was Catherine Hynmers, the widow of one of the Company’s merchants who had died in the East.

On the day succeeding the storm the Reverend Richard Elliot in his black gown and best wig was holding forth from the pulpit with lengthy eloquence on the many temptations that come to a man who is obliged to live in the tropics. Forty minutes passed before any promise was given of the discourse coming to an end. The President did his best to follow the argument, but his attention wandered to other matters. He had given his orders before the service began concerning the wreck. It was characteristic of him to desire to go to the scene and enforce those orders.

The sermon came to a conclusion at last; but the impatient Governor was not yet at liberty to leave. The soldiers were the first to march out. They were closely packed beneath the gallery where the rattle and clank of their old-fashioned armour well-nigh drowned the tones of the small organ.

When the men had clattered out and lined the road from the church to the Fort House, Yale rose with such of his council who had not been drawn away to St. Thoma. As he descended the handsome stone staircase outside the church at the west end, he raised his hat to the ladies who were issuing from the north door. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

The trumpeter blew a blast. A peon resplendent in =scarlet uniform lifted a large umbrella with a long handle above the President’s head. This was the roundel, an emblem of state which impressed the natives with a sense of royalty and pre-eminence on the part of the English ruler.

The Governor walked in slow procession with his council between the ranks of pikemen and halberdiers to the entrance of the Fort House. He returned the salute of the Lieutenant in command, and the men were marched to their quarters outside the gate in the north wall, known as the Middle Gate, and dismissed. He was about to enter the private sitting-room set apart for the use of the members of council and senior merchants when Bridger came forward.

“May I have a word with you, sir?” he said.

“Certainly,” replied Yale graciously but with a slight stiffness.

“Two men were washed ashore this morning at St. Thoma.”

“Poor fellows! Sailors, I suppose.”

“One is a sailor, sir.”

“Arrangements have been made to bury them, of course.”

“Only one of them is dead. I am on my way to Mr. Elliot now to ask him to take the funeral this afternoon. The other man is alive and is making a good recovery.”

“He has been sent to the Company’s hospital?”

“No, sir, I have kept him at my house. From his appearance I believe him to be of a better class than a common sailor. He is still sick and my wife is willing to nurse him.”

“It is very good of her. Is he in the employment of the Company—a ship’s officer or a supercargo?”

“I believe not.”

The President paused; he let his eye rest on the free merchant. Then he said pointedly:

“It is against the rules to entertain a stranger within the Fort.”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” replied Bridger shortly.

The free men resented bitterly the prohibition. They knew that it was directed against their own friends and relatives and imposed to prevent their introduction.

“There is accommodation to be found in the Blacktown for strange seafaring men. The Blacktown is free and open to the world. It would have been wise, Mr. Bridger, to have let him go there.”

“Your pardon, sir! I would not send a sick dog into the Blacktown.”

The Governor knew that the densely packed native quarter with its filthy streets, swarming with pigs, goats and buffaloes, was not a fit place for a European who wanted care and nursing.

“Very well; we will hold you responsible for the good conduct of the stranger. You must report his arrival officially to-morrow morning when the council meets and ask for the usual permission to entertain a friend. The council will be sure to grant it, provided he can give a satisfactory, account of himself. Should he be well enough, let him come up and answer the necessary questions in person. If he is one of the Borneo’s crew, he will have a right to shelter within our walls. But in that case he ought to be our guest and not chargeable on a free merchant like yourself. What made you take him to your house?”

Again Yale scrutinized the face of the man before him.

“Common humanity, Mr. Yale! You would have done the same yourself.”

There was a ring of defiance in Bridger’s tone that did not escape the observation of the President.

“True, I might have done so; but it would not hinder me in the performance of my duty to the Company. However, I dare say that all will be in order and you will have no trouble over the matter. It is very praiseworthy of you and your wife to play the good Samaritan to a perfect stranger. What is he like?”

“He is fair and young and strong.”

“And you have never seen him before?”

To this remark Bridger made no reply, a fact that did not escape Yale’s notice. The dinner bell rang and there was a sound of footsteps outside. The President never kept men waiting if he could help it. He rose, and without waiting for Bridger to take the initiative, he bade him good morning curtly, but with punctilious politeness, and moved quickly away, in the direction of the dining-hall.

Yale could not forget that the free merchant who had been speaking with him had had dealings with the notorious Captain Alley. Also that he sent home a quantity of diamonds and pearls without registering them and paying the dues when he was in the employment of the Company some years before. It was in consequence of this irregularity that the Directors had dispensed with his services.

Yale looked into the sitting-room. Some of the men who had accompanied him to church were still standing about absorbed in conversation. They were apparently in no hurry to adjourn to the big dining-hall where hot joints were steaming on the long tables. He approached a middle-aged man who was the highest in rank of those present after himself.

“Will you preside at dinner to-day, Mr. Gray, and hold me excused,” he said “I shall be grateful if you will.”

“With all the good will in the world!” answered Gray “Nothing wrong at home, I hope?”

“Nothing! nothing!” said the President hastily “Truth to tell, I am anxious to get down to St. Thoma and see for myself what is happening there. I suppose my brother Tom has not come back yet?”

“I haven’t seen him. He and Wavell and Higgenson went off together early so that the interests of the Company might be properly represented.”

“Of course; that’s as it should be,” replied Yale as he turned to leave the room. Deep in his heart was the uncomfortable conviction that his brother was likely to be far more interested in the fate of the Raven and its cargo than in the loss of the Borneo.

Yale lived in Middle Street, which led directly to the Middle Gate. His house was a more modern building than Jearsey’s and larger. At the front, opening on to the street, there was a pillared portico. Above it was a broad veranda. On the other side the rooms looked out towards the sea, which was visible from the upper windows.

Like the rest of the gentlemen of the Fort he and his family occupied the upper story, while the lower rooms were devoted to offices, kitchen and servants’ quarters.

At the sound of his footstep on the stairs a baby voice greeted him from above.

“Dadda, is that you? Have you come home to dinner? Good Dadda! Give Davie a kiss!”

The little figure at the top of the stairs smiled at him and held out its arms. Yale’s eyes softened strangely as he took up his son and gave him the kiss he demanded. The doubts that troubled him about his brother’s integrity vanished.

“My little Davie, my dear son!” he murmured over the small child as he set him down again.

Two pretty children dressed in long white frocks and close-fitting caps ran to the landing of the stairs.

“Father! father!” they cried in glad surprise; for they seldom saw him at this hour.

“Ah! Cathie and little Annie!” he said as he kissed them in turn, the boy clinging to the skirts of his Stuart coat unwilling to share his father’s attention even with his sisters.

“Dadda, give me your sword!” cried Davie “I want your sword!”

“No, Davie,” said Cathie, who was the eldest and gave herself motherly airs in consequence “You will cut yourself.”

“I must have a sword,” the child insisted “How can I keep the enemy out of my fort if I don’t have a sword? Dadda, you must buy me a long big gun and a sharp sword.”

The three children followed their father into a room where a lady sat by the open window with a book on her knee. It was an illustrated Bible from which she had been telling the children sacred stories. She rose at his approach.

“Have you come home to dine with us, Elihu?” she asked, her housekeeping instincts suddenly roused as she considered whether the menu of the simple Sunday dinner would suffice for her husband’s needs.

“No, dearest. I’m afraid I cannot stay to dinner. I want to go to St. Thoma with as little delay as possible to see what they are doing in the way of salvage. Give me a bite of something after I have changed; then you and the little ones can have your meal in peace.”

He called for his servant and ordered his palanquin. Davie remained by his father’s side, his shrill childish voice raised in imperative demands for a sword and a gun. Yale took him by the hand and led him into an adjoining bedroom. It amused him to hear the child chattering while he changed his dress of ceremony for something lighter and more comfortable. It was only by snatching moments like these from his busy life that he was able to see anything of his family

“And why do you want a sword and gun, sonnie?” he asked.

“For my fort, Dadda. I’ve got a big fort, bigger than yours, and I’m the President,” he replied with an assumption of importance that made Yale smile.

“Oh! you are, are you? Take care that the great Moghul doesn’t come with his wild horsemen and rob you of your fort!”

Davie regarded him with serious eyes.

“That’s why I must have a gun and sword. You see. Dadda, I must have them.”

“What is the name of your fort? Fort St. George?”

“No, Dadda; that is the name of yours. Mine is Fort David. Cathie says that David was the name of one of my grand-dads.”

“It belonged also to a good man in the Bible. It is an excellent name for the fort of a little Welshman like you, Davie. I’ll order you a big gun and a sword to fight the Moghul with.”

“And can I have a flag?”

“Of course, my son, you must have a flag and some ships too.”

“I’ve got ships and money and cargo,” said the child with a touch of impatience.

“Oh! I beg pardon. I didn’t know that you were so well provided,” replied Yale with a seriousness that matched Davie’s.

The boy gazed at his father suspiciously. Was he laughing at him, or would he really provide the gun and sword? As if to impress on his father the importance of all that he said, he stretched out his tiny hands to indicate the immense width and breadth of his domain.

“My fort is so big. It is down by the sea. Solomon and Mary helped me to build it. We made a big hole and buried all our money so that the Moghul should not find it, and we buried our ships and our cargoes.”

Yale could see the busy happy child on the shore making castles in the sand with the help of the two attendants who were his own special servants. The seaweed was his merchandise, the delicate pink shells his money, and driftwood his ships.

By this time the President was dressed for his expedition to St. Thoma. His costume was very much the same as that worn by Bridger. Yale stood for a short time looking down at his only son. He was no longer a young man. This child had come in middle life after the birth of two daughters to be his pride and joy. Always fond of children, the love for them had developed with his own fatherhood. The importance of child life together with the training and education which was to form the honest man and good citizen, impressed themselves on his mind as he watched the growth of his own little ones. It was the cause of his activities in connexion with the orphans in the charge of the church charity.

“I must be off, sonnie,” he said at the end of the idle minute he had stolen after his toilet was complete.

“To fight the Moghul, Dadda?”

“No, sonnie; to look after my ships which are too big to hide in the sand.”

“May I come with you?” asked the child suddenly.

The entry of Solomon, his bearer, with the announcement that dinner was ready diverted Davie’s attention. He was carried away, forgetful of the dreaded Moghul and the weapons of war required to fight him, should he descend upon the little English settlement.

Chapter V

The servants in the Fort were mostly slaves. The Englishman recoiled instinctively even in those days from traffic in human flesh; but he was obliged to practise it to a small extent in the East. It was the only means by which he could obtain servants.

On arrival in India the European found the system established. It had existed from time immemorial. It still exists in a modified form in India. The employer of labour in the present day is not permitted to buy the person of the labourer. Instead, he purchases the man’s liabilities. The debtor pays the interest on the debt in labour instead of money, whether it is work on the land or in the manufactory or the house. He gives his labour on the unwritten understanding that his employer shall provide him with food and the necessaries of life. The supplies stand in the place of wages. In many respects it is an admirable system, as the merchant in times of dearth continues the supplies. It is only in a serious famine that the grain store fails.

The Portuguese and Dutch, who arrived in India before the English, carried on a traffic in human flesh that was sometimes not to their credit. In times of scarcity parents brought their children and sold them into slavery as being the only way in which starvation and death could be avoided.

The Governor himself owned a score or more of servants who were virtually slaves. Those belonging to the Company numbered over a hundred. They were used chiefly in the loading and unloading of ships and in the storehouses. There were no abuses. As soon as a native became part of a household, he was treated more like a paid servant than a slave.

His duties were light because they were shared by so many. Rice was cheap and the cost of his keep barely appreciable. He was clothed as well as fed at his master’s expense; he was allowed to marry, and his family was supported for him. It was a happy life, free from anxiety and care, except the one thing necessary—the pleasing of his master.

If he stole or told lies he was punished lightly; and the punishment was usually administered by the native majordomo of the establishment, who ruled downstairs. Severe punishment could only be meted out by the Justice of the Choultry or Town Magistrate. There was no fear of being sold; and if his master died he often received his freedom as a legacy from the dead man.

Although the English in Fort St. George were careful not to abuse the system, it was well known that men of other nations carried it on to an extent which irritated the natives and their chiefs. Frequent complaints had lately been made to the President by native parents of the disappearance of their children who were just of an age to make themselves useful. The angry father and tearful mother declared that their young people were kidnapped and sent to other ports.

Some promising slaves had also disappeared from the Fort in a mysterious manner. Servants and workmen were needed in Java, Sumatra and Borneo, where the Dutch had settlements. The islands were known as the West Coast. The climate was unhealthy to European and Indian alike; and a constant supply of both was needed to keep the offices and warehouses going. Large sums were paid for able-bodied natives brought from the Coromandel coast.

Yale was disturbed by rumours of a large export from Masulipatam, a seaport north of Madras. The English factory at that settlement was subordinate to Fort St. George. He wrote to the “Chief of the Merchants,” by which title the senior officer was known; asking him to make inquiries and to use every means to put a stop to the practice.

The Chief replied, assuring him that his countrymen had nothing to do with it. He suggested that it was the work of the foreigners. He reminded the President that the French and the Dutch as well as Armenians and Moors had settlements at Masulipatam; and that a large number of ships for the coast trade were built at Nursapore close to Masulipatam. Any one of these ships might be used as a slaver by the foreign settlers; or by Hindu, Moor—as the Mohammedan was called—or Armenian.

Yale endeavoured to check it as far as Madras was concerned by instituting a system of registration. No man could be exported against his will. He had to appear in person before the Justice of the Choultry to be examined and to register his name himself before he was allowed to go on board any English ship. Over native trade he had no jurisdiction outside the Fort.

It had very little effect on stopping the traffic in human flesh, and Yale was more than a little irritated at his want of success. Information reached him that the export of slaves to Java and Sumatra was continuing and that it was increasing the wave of ill-will towards the Europeans that had sprung up. He let it be known that he intended to prosecute and punish severely any person or persons detected in buying slaves for any other purpose than for their own personal use.

After a hasty lunch taken in the office, Yale went out into the street. The palanquin was ready with its gang of sturdy bearers. They were of the fisherman caste, free men who lived in the Muckwa village outside the Fort. They took the road to the west and passed through the Fort gate. It was a little longer, perhaps; but presented fewer obstacles than the sandy beach and ferry over the river. Chanting as they ran the bearers followed the Mount Road; and presently turning off they entered Triplicane and swung steadily along by palm-shaded paths and picturesque huts of sun-dried brick embowered in luxuriant creepers.

Two armed peons trotted in front of the palanquin, clearing the way where the road was thronged with people. Four more followed close behind. There was no real necessity for the presence of an armed escort; the reason for employing it was to uphold the dignity of the English Governor in the eyes of the natives. The natives of Madras were peacefully disposed towards the English unless irritated by malpractices such as slave trading.

It was the Rajahs and petty chiefs who gave trouble. On their account it was necessary to have guns and trained soldiers in the Fort. Otherwise all commercial activity would have been paralyzed by the blackmailing and extortions of Hindu and Mohammedan prince alike.

The old town of St. Thoma was still walled in and fortified. Town and fort were built by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century when Myliapore, the Hindu city, was a large and flourishing seaport. The grandeur and prosperity of St. Thoma declined with the power of Portugal. Most of the old Portuguese families left the place, realizing what fortunes they had made and returning to their European homes. Some had married women of the country. Their descendants, dark of complexion and thoroughly Oriental in their habits, still traded as merchants. They were ready to act as agents in procuring the produce from inland; they were pleased to lend money at a high interest with very little security.

The great gateways in the walls of the town with their guardrooms crumbled under the finger of time and the materials were carried away with impunity by any man who wanted to build a house. The sea encroached on the bastions facing the shore and swept away bulwark after bulwark. Fine old mansions where the Portuguese merchants lived in princely style a century ago went to ruin. The descendants of their slaves, calling themselves by the noble names of their former masters, squatted in the deserted buildings and claimed a holding. The glory of the town had departed and it was farmed by a native merchant who made what he could out of the miserable inhabitants.

Of late years it had become the home of the interloper and the refuge of the pirate. Hidden away in a labyrinth of narrow streets, contraband goods, destined for the English market, were stored ready for the interloper’s vessel. Small coasting ships entered the St. Thoma river and passed out again unseen by the authorities of Fort St. George.

There were several men of Portuguese extraction with mixed blood who were connected by marriage with some of the English merchants. A pure-blooded Portuguese was termed a castez; one of mixed blood, a mestez; and they were entered as such in the list kept of the residents in Fort St. George.

Yale had a suspicion that some of the less scrupulous Englishmen had dealings through their relatives in St Thoma; but he had never been able to prove it. He felt morally certain that the slave traders carried on their operations from St. Thoma.

Progress through the narrow streets was slow. The bearers pushed their way along, jostling men and women if they disregarded the warning cry of the runners. The storm had left its mark upon the town in the shape of recently fallen roofs and masonry.

Yale directed his bearers to stop at the sea front. He stepped out of the palanquin and picked his way through masses of drift towards the mouth of the river. The sea was less violent but the shore gave evidence of the disaster. Water casks, baskets, broken spars, beams and all kinds of vegetables and fruit—among which were a quantity of coco-nuts—were thrown up on the high-water mark. Here and there he passed a peon guarding a pile of sodden bales or a heap of boxes. Two ships lay just beyond the breakers with the sea washing heavily over them. They were about a quarter of a mile apart. Close to the Raven was a smaller vessel of the coasting type. Its nearness to the larger ship suggested a collision.

A group of men had gathered at a spot where the river met the sea. Their attention was riveted upon an object which had been carried into the mouth of the river by the waves. Yale hurried towards them.

Foremost on the bank stood his brother, the brackish water curling in a wash at his feet. He started as Yale caught him by the arm.

“What is that object floating over there?” asked the President pointing to something in the water.

“God alone knows!” replied Tom Yale with unusual gravity “The natives say that it is a dead body tied to a spar. Wavell thinks that it is a bale of broadcloth loosened in the water and entangled in broken wreckage.”

“Have you been successful in saving anything from the Borneo?”

“A very small percentage; and that I am afraid is spoiled by the salt water. Fortunately neither of the ships had their full complement of men. The Captain of the Raven was ashore here when the storm began. He launched his boat last night after dark and did his best to reach the vessel; but he was upset in the surf and nearly drowned.”

“What was he doing ashore here?” asked Yale.

“You must ask him that question,” replied his brother shortly “I don’t know what his business was in St. Thoma. For all I can tell it may have been of a private nature and not concerned with his cargo.”

“The Raven, I understand, had just arrived from England and was going on to Masulipatam and thence to Sumatra.”

“You seem to know a good deal about its movements; certainly more than I do,” said Tom Yale with the plain speech of a brother, who did not stand in awe of his elder’s authority.

“It is my business to know what these ships bring into the place and carry away. Goodwyn must have shipped something from St. Thoma or he would not have been wasting his time at such a port as this.”

“Well! whatever he was shipping, the goods are in the maw of the sea by this time, and the loss to him and his unknown employers must be great.”

“I’m sorry for him—and yet——” Yale paused; he did not wish to be hard on a man who had just been overwhelmed by a big misfortune. His brother finished the sentence for him.

“And yet you are not sorry to see a ship that does not belong to the Company wrecked and destroyed.”

“It is well known that the Raven was not innocent of interloping.”

“That may be said of most ships not in the Company’s fleet,” replied Tom Yale with half a smile “Come, Elihu, don’t be too hard on your fellow-men. Did you never find the interloper a useful friend?”

Yale made no reply. It was notorious that his brother disregarded the charter, and succeeded in finding a European market for goods which should have come home only in the Directors’ name. The President walked away abruptly and joined Wavell, who was directing the efforts of the Muckwas and peons in salving operations a little higher up the river, where the turbulence of the water was less.

A powerful young fisherman waded out and swam towards the floating mass. He carried in his teeth an iron hook to which was attached a cord. With a strong arm he threw the hook over the mass. It caught and held it fast. Turning his face to the bank he towed the drift slowly behind him. Occasionally a current from un inrushing wave caught the object in a whirling eddy and drew the swimmer under water. It was a troublesome and dangerous task. He struggled to the surface each time amid encouraging shouts from the excited men on shore. Gradually he neared the shallows. A gang of Muckwas waded out to his assistance and relieved him of the rope.

“It cannot be a dead body,” remarked Wavell to Higgenson. “It is too heavy.”

Neither of them knew the native language, not having been long on the Coromandel coast; but Yale, who had spent many years in the Fort, understood what the natives round him were saying. His face darkened as he watched their increasing excitement.

“Is Captain Bett here?” he asked one of his peons.

The Commandant was busy on the beach a little way off with some bales that had just come ashore and which the soldiers under his directions were hauling above high-water mark. He ran forward on receiving a message from Yale.

“Have you any men to spare?”

“Yes, sir; half a dozen.”

“Call them up at once. We may have a little trouble here.”

Six rough but strong Englishmen belonging to the garrison were beckoned forward. They saluted and stood at attention. It was Yale himself who gave the command.

“Take the rope from the natives and haul in. Let none but our Muckwas assist. Peons! keep the crowd away and form a ring.”

His orders were promptly obeyed and the crowd fell back. The murmuring increased. Hand over hand the Englishmen hauled in the mass till it rested on the sand in shallow water within ten yards of the shore. The Muckwas at a sign from Yale waded in and lifted the flotsam. They carried it straight to the President and laid it at his feet.

There was a broken spar with part of a sail attached. This was not all. Something was enveloped in the torn canvas. The sail was pulled away and disclosed four dead bodies. They were natives and they were chained with manacles. The poor things had clung together in a death embrace.

A growl ran through the dark-skinned crowd of onlookers as they pressed forward. The peons drove them back; but angry glances were directed towards the Europeans. The spot where they were was not British. That little handful of Englishmen stood on foreign soil that was under the jurisdiction of a native ruler. Yale understood the situation and his one thought now was to remove the bodies before the natives could exhibit hostility.

“Cover the bodies and take them at once to the Fort,” said Yale.

With his own hands he helped to disentangle the poor fettered limbs from the wet cordage. It was not a difficult task. The men had clung to each other in their death agony and not to the spar. The sail was used to cover the bodies. It was but a fragment, yet it was large enough for a pall. As it was straightened out some letters were exposed painted upon the sailcloth. There were only two, the rest being torn away. They afforded a piece of evidence which did not escape the eye of the President. The two letters that stared them in the face were “RA——”

“Ra——! Good heavens!” ejaculated Higgenson.

“This can’t be the work of the Raven. I will never believe it!” said Wavell.

Here Yale broke in. His anger was visible to all. For the present he found a difficulty in articulating his words so full of wrath was he.

“Whosesoever work it be, he will have to account for it to me and the council. I swear that I will punish him as a pirate and a murderer on the high seas!”

“And serve him right too!” said Higgenson “Interloping is one thing; but slave-trading is another.”

“I think I may answer for it, sir, that no man in the Fort has put his hand to this thing,” added Wavell.

“But what says the sail?” demanded Yale, looking from one to the other.

There was silence. No one could explain away the damning evidence.

Chapter VI

Yale sat in an easy chair at the window of his parlour. He was tired after his journey to St. Thoma and worried by the thought of what the sea had revealed. In spite of all that he was doing to prevent it, the slave trade was being carried on close by; and from what the crowd of natives had let drop, their suspicions pointed to some unknown European. It was an unpleasant fact that was forced upon his notice and it would not be ignored.

Evensong was over with the catechizing of the charity children. Mrs. Yale and her two little girls returned from the service. She noted her husband’s fatigue, and at once busied herself with making a cup of tea. It was not often that she indulged him in the expensive luxury; but there were times when it was the only thing that would revive him. She persuaded him to push his chair nearer the window and arranged his cushions.

“Try and get a little sleep, dear husband,” she said “I will take the children on the sands for their evening walk.”

Her movements were gentle and quiet and had a soothing influence. If she had only known it, it would have been better for him to have had his thoughts taken off the morning work and diverted to something of a stimulating nature, which might make him forget the distressing scene he had witnessed.

The afternoon sun came out for a space with a glory of gold, turning the deep greys of cloud and sea into rich purples. Yale watched the light as it gilded the turrets of the Fort House. They were visible against the sky above the line of houses.

His windows looked into Middle Street, and from behind the white curtain of Indian muslin he could see the passers-by. Mrs. Yale with Cathie and Annie on either side walked leisurely towards the Sea Gate. Baby Ursula was carried by one of the women. Davie was in the arms of Solomon, while faithful Mary followed behind. Yale’s eyes rested on his son till the little party disappeared round the corner in the direction of the beach.

“I must not forget the gun and the sword. The carpenter shall make them to-morrow,” he said to himself.

A small procession entered the street and passed slowly towards the Middle Gate. Mr. Elliott in his vestments preceded it. It was the funeral of the drowned sailor. The body, sewn in canvas, was covered with a black pall. It rested on a bier borne by six soldiers. The cemetery beyond the gate was a large enclosure in which tall masonry tombs marked how many Englishmen and women had already been claimed by the climate. Not one of them had reached the age of fifty, and the majority were between eighteen and thirty. Thither the victim of the storm was being carried, and Bridger followed as the only mourner. In all probability the chaplain’s services would be required later for others who had met with the same fate during the storm.

“Bridger is as kind a man as ever stepped,” thought the President. “There was no necessity for him to follow. It is a purely disinterested act on his part. I wish all his deeds had been as disinterested!”

Except for an occasional passer-by the Fort was very quiet. The deep tones of the sea, and the cawing of the Indian rooks and crows, alone disturbed the silence of the afternoon. Yale closed his eyes and might have slept, but a light footstep sounded on the broad staircase of his house. A servant entered.

“Mistress Nicks asks to see your Honour.”

“Tell her to come in.”

The blood swept over his face as he rose to meet her.

“This is a pleasure, Kitty. I heard that you were here and were staying with the Jearseys. When did you arrive?”

“I came in yesterday evening.”

“Not by sea, surely! The weather has been too bad for travelling by sea.”

“I made the journey by road. Fortunately I arrived before the storm was at its worst.”

He led her to the window and pulled a second chair forward near his own where she could feel the fresh air. It had been cooled by the storm which had established the northeast monsoon.

“Your husband is not with you, I suppose,” he remarked as he dropped back into his cane lounge.

Mrs. Nicks looked at him reproachfully.

“How could he be with me when you refused to give him leave to come?”

“It is difficult to give leave to one and not to another; it is a request which I am sorry to say the council has to refuse frequently to others as well as your husband. Just now his presence as Chief of the Factory at Cuddalore is very necessary; and there is no adequate reason why he should desert his post.”

“I suppose the care of his own property does not count as a reason in the eyes of the Company!” replied Mrs. Nicks, tossing her hood back from her closely curled hair with a twitch that showed the sudden irritation that had flamed up. Her husband owned two large houses in the Fort which were tenanted by gentlemen in the service.

“His property is well looked after as you know; and the rents are paid regularly,” said Yale in a conciliatory tone “Now, Kitty! it is of no use pretending such virtue and injured innocence. Confess that you are here solely on your own affairs; and that those are not the affairs that usually come within the sphere of a lady’s activities.”

She laughed in spite of her indignation; and her eyes had a merry twinkle in them as they met his with a sparkle of defiance.

It was an open secret that Mrs. Nicks traded on her own account independently of her husband. There were some who envied her the success which attended her speculations. Others added jealousy to their envy and regarded her with unfriendly eyes. More than once her name had come before the council in connexion with an infringement of the Company’s rights; and she had been warned that unless she was more careful she would be shipped back to England and her husband would be fined.

While Yale was in power, however, no great harm would come to her; she knew this and, on the strength of it, continued to take risks that caused her old friend many anxious moments. He often wished that she would be more circumspect. His tenure of office would not last for ever; and the time would come when he would not be able to stand between her and trouble. She had many enemies among the employés of the Company, and plenty of friends among the free merchants, men who were regarded with the same suspicion as herself.

Yale watched her with a troubled expression as she replied with some warmth to his accusation.

“My affairs concern no one but myself. I signed no covenant when I came out to India. I made no rash promises to withhold my hand when the fruit lay so near my fingers.”

“It would have been well for you if you had taken out a licence. Then the council would not have been forced to notice certain irregularities which have occurred lately at Cuddalore.” He paused as though a little uncertain how far he might go. Plucking up courage he continued: “Kitty, your husband has to bear the onus of your actions; they are not to his credit in the eyes of the Directors.”

He spoke from his heart. He had known her for many years; and they had been near neighbours in the Fort before she married as well as afterwards. Nicks was promoted to the chiefship of the Cuddalore Factory; and when he took up his appointment his wife went with him. As Katherine Barker she was bridesmaid to Mrs. Hynmers on the latter’s marriage to Yale. A month later Yale was present at Kitty’s wedding in the same church. Children were born of the two unions, there being the same number in each family, three girls and one boy;

Then came a great grief to Mrs. Nicks. When her little son was three years old he died. Just ten months before this Sunday of the storm she laid him in the cemetery outside the Fort. Being a woman of high spirit and indomitable courage, she hid her sorrow and carried a brave face to the world; but her old friend knew something of the anguish which wrung her heart.

Yale sat watching her now as he spoke. He had not forgotten the past. She was the same Kitty Barker as of old; but her face was touched with a grief that had softened it. The charm was there which beguiled women into loving her and men into oblivion of all her faults.

The blood of the old merchant adventurers must have flowed in her veins; for she had something of the same look of enterprise and adventure that marked their countenances when they set out under Sir Thomas Roe and Sir James Lancaster for the unknown East. There was the dauntlessness oft a bold spirit ready to take fortune or adversity as it came; but with it went a generosity that was devoid of the petty jealousy which marked some of the merchants of Yale’s time. The mention of the Directors roused Kitty’s ire.

“A plague on them! Who cares for their opinion?” Then with a sudden change of manner her irritation gave place to a softness that was irresistible “Don’t preach, Elihu. I did not come to see the President of the council. I called to see an old friend.”

“Very well, Kitty. So be it! I feel much more like a tired old friend just now than an official. Tell me how matters are progressing at Cuddalore. How is your husband getting on with the purchase of the fort at Tevanaputnam?”

“Slowly; for he and the native owner cannot come to terms.”

“That ought not to be the case. Why is it so?”

“John is acting under your council and he is unfortunately limited to a fixed price. He is not a free agent and cannot offer more than the sum named by the council. Meanwhile the fort may be lost. The French and Dutch have both tried to buy it at different times. It is said that the French are in treaty for it again as they are not satisfied with Pondicherry.”

Yale listened attentively. It was one of his pet schemes to have a fort south of Madras to which the Company’s staff could retire should the much dreaded Moghul push his predatory troops to the walls of Fort St. George as was feared. The Moghul never got as far; but sixty years later the French succeeded in accomplishing the very thing Yale dreaded; and the English were driven to Tevanaputnam, or as it was then called Fort St. David, where they took refuge for three years.

“If I remember right the fort lies about a couple of miles to the east of Cuddalore on the coast; and it has a good river that almost surrounds it. Has your husband examined the building?” asked Yale.

“Yes; but I fancy that I can tell you even more than he can. I have been over it several times and have thoroughly examined it within and without.”

The President raised his eyebrows as he exclaimed in surprise:

“You! Did your husband send you to do it?”

“No, he did not!” she replied quickly “You need not look so astonished. A woman’s curiosity leads her to do many stranger things than prying into a deserted fortress.”

“And what do you think of it?”

“It is worth buying. It is strong and solidly built of stone with double walls. It cost the builder, a rich Gentu merchant, named Chinnia Chetty, over a hundred thousand pagodas; not a fanam less I should say; and labour as well as material was cheaper then than it is now.”

“The marvel to me is that a private individual was ever permitted to raise so strong a place,” observed Yale.

“He bought permission, of course, from the native ruler, just as the Company has purchased the right to settle here,” said Mrs. Nicks.

“It may have been so,” acquiesced Yale.

“And if a private native merchant is allowed to build such a fort,” continued Mrs. Nicks, following up her own line of thought—“a fort containing dwellings, warehouses, wharf and quarters for troops, I should like to know, Elihu, why a private English merchant may not do the same? Chinnia is said to have held the fort for many years, paying taxes, of course, to his native sovereign. Remember that the fort does not stand on British ground. The Directors have no claim on the place, no more than they have on the town of Golcondah or St. Thoma, unless they buy it. Tell me; why may not an Englishman follow Chinnia’s example?”

“Kitty! what do you mean?” cried Yale.

Her wild words startled him. He lifted himself up from his cushions and leaned forward, his keen glance searching her face as though he would read what was in her mind. She returned his gaze without flinching and answered with an assurance that was disconcerting:

“I mean this, sir; why shouldn’t I”—she laid a bold emphasis on the personal pronoun—“buy the fort and live there, myself?”

He held up his hand in protest and would have spoken, but she continued before he could speak:

“I should then have plenty of space to store my merchandise, whereas now I am hampered for warehouse room and my goods are mixed with the Company’s. The small country ships that I own could come into the river up to the very walls and load or unload at the wharf. It is a better river for navigation than this; and the bar is open at all times of the year. It is only what Chinnia Chetty used to do. Now he has grown rich, so rich that he does not care to be plagued with any more trading.”

Yale heard her out without attempting further protest. He was too astounded by her daring scheme to find words immediately. At last he said:

“Chinnia Chetty traded with India and the East. You would not be content with that. You would want to trade with England; and this the Directors would never allow.”

Again the mention of the Directors stirred her and she flamed into hot words once more.

“The Directors! a parcel of oppressors!” she cried “They are not the lords of India! They do not stand behind the throne of the great Moghul! When they rule from Delhi to Cape Comorin, then let them dictate! But that will never be! How far does their power extend? Just a mile or two along a sandy desolate shore with no more country inland than their cannon balls can cover! If the Dutch or the French purchase the fort, think you that the Directors will dare to dictate? I tell you no! And if Katherine Nicks buys the fort, she will not hold herself accountable to any man but the lawful sovereign of the country!”

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as her imagination, assisted by a vaulting ambition, pictured herself as a merchant princess, living behind her own guns with a fleet of trading vessels lying in the river under the walls of the fortress.

It was a fascinating picture to Kitty, and there was nothing impossible about it from her point of view. It would merely be doing what a small community of private individuals had already done before when Fort St. George was founded. Only five years after Mrs. Nicks made this proposition to Yale, Richard Blackwall, an English adventurer, attempted and almost succeeded in establishing himself in a similar position under a native ruler at Porto Novo a few miles south of Cuddalore. The story of the attempt and its frustration is recorded in the minute books of the Fort St. George council.

Yale could not contemplate the picture calmly. Such a project, he assured her, could only end in failure and disaster. He knew better than she did how the Directors would treat a scheme of this kind, which would violate the privileges granted to them by their charter. They were more powerful than Mrs. Nicks would believe, for they had the King’s troops as well as the King’s authority behind them.

She was carried away only for a short time, and she came back from her castle-in-the-air with a quick change of mood which was one of her charms. A merry laugh broke from her lips as she noted his consternation.

“Don’t look so alarmed!” she cried, laying a small well-shaped hand, narrow and long fingered, on his arm “I have been talking of possibilities and not probabilities. There is a wide difference between the two. It may set your mind at rest if I assure you that I have no intention whatever of buying the fort; although I can put down the money for it if I choose. The Directors shall have the fort in their own time and at their own price—if they can get it. I can employ my capital to a better purpose in a product of the country on which the Directors claim no dues.”

“And more honestly I hope, Kitty, than in attempting to poach on the Company’s preserves. Leave that for the French and Dutch.”

She made a little grimace as though out of patience with his preaching.

“It is all very well for you to talk, Elihu; you are a very wealthy man. It is easy to be honest when one has a hundred and fifty thousand pounds to one’s name as you have. Aye! I know it to be true! You need not shake your head at me! You will double it before you leave the country or my name isn’t Kitty Nicks!”

“At any rate I will do it honestly and leave without a stain on my character!” replied Yale with spirit.

Mrs. Nicks laughed and shook her finger at him.

“Almost as hard a thing to do as for the camel to pass through the eye of the needle. The Directors will never be persuaded that a man can come honestly by his money in India. You may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb; so take my advice, old friend, and make money while you have the chance.”

“It will be my friends who will get me into trouble if ever trouble does descend upon my head. You and Tom are each doing your best in your separate ways to involve me with the Directors, and I haven’t the heart to break with either of you.”

It was true. Whatever Yale had done in the past—and history to this day records nothing against the man—he only desired to do his duty and to administer the great power placed in his hands to the best of his ability now that he was at the head of the Company’s affairs. The task was difficult as he had just told Mrs. Nicks.

“Have no fear for me,” she said “Leave me to fight my own battles. I want the help of no one; neither husband nor friend.”

She drew herself up with an imperious gesture that he remembered of old, a trick that indicated the independence that was characteristic of her. It was calculated to make a man pause, if he was considering a nearer tie than friendship. Two masterful minds in one house would not make for peace. Nicks was anything but masterful; but it was different with Yale.

The sunlight turned from a pale gold to a rosy red. A few minutes more and it would fade from turret and roof. The cool north-east wind swayed the white curtains and ruffled the curls on Mrs. Nicks’s forehead. The restfulness and calm of the evening communicated itself to the troubled mind of the busy man. He gave himself up to the enjoyment of it, leaning back in his chair. His eyes rested on his companion. He was in agreement with her last assertion. She needed help from no one.

“It was very brave of you to make the journey alone,” he remarked.

“I didn’t say that I came alone,” she replied, coming out of a reverie into which she too had fallen.

“Ah! I remember; you only told me that your husband was not with you. “Who was your companion? I am at a loss to guess as no one has reported his arrival since yesterday.”

“I travelled with Mr. Daniel Chardin.”

Apparently it amused Kitty to give her old friend a series of shocks and surprises. Chardin was the brother of Sir John Chardin, the celebrated traveller. Daniel Chardin had lately settled in the Fort with the Company’s licence to buy diamonds for them at Golcondah. He brought his wife with him, a pleasant French lady, and established her in York Street, in a house that he had purchased. After settling her comfortably he started out on his mission inland.

“With Chardin from Cuddalore!” echoed Yale “I thought he was at Golcondah, from which place he was to go to Masulipatam and be picked up in one of our ships. He has a large commission from us to buy. I was only thinking of him this morning and hoping that he might not be caught in this storm. He was to have left Masulipatam ten days ago bringing diamonds with him.”

“And so he did! Finding none of your ships starting immediately for this port, he took passage in one of mine, the John and Katherine, which was coming straight to Cuddalore. She got into the river just in time to escape the storm. From there he travelled by road with an escort of men lent him by my husband from the factory, and I took advantage of the opportunity to come with him. He will be sure to report his arrival to-morrow morning.”

“Has he brought a good consignment of stones?”

“Nay, what do I know of diamonds?” exclaimed Mrs. Nicks, with a sly twinkle in her eye “They are the Company’s monopoly with which we outsiders may not meddle. Bridger was broke over diamonds.”

“Poor Bridger! I was sorry for him; he is a good fellow. I wish he would run straight. Can you tell me if any native gem merchants came with Chardin?”

“Yes, several; they were only too glad to have the chance of travelling with us.”

“Why have they left Golcondah?”

“There was a panic in the city, so my captain tells me. The Moghul was said to be approaching with his army and there seemed every likelihood of the King of Golcondah falling into his hands.”

“Hasn’t the King any troops? The town is capable of defence surely.”

“Instead of the inhabitants of the place rallying round him to protect him and their own property, they were flying in all directions. Even the King’s troops were demoralized with fear. They were deserting, looting all they could as they ran away. The gem merchants begged to be allowed passages on the John and Katherine; and they brought away as much of their stock as they could conveniently hide on their persons.” Again a spirit of mischief took possession of her. “I shall expect them to treat me handsomely since it was my ship that carried them out of danger. It was a clever stroke of business on the part of my captain.”

“I think they ought to pay you well for their passages,” said Yale.

“Elihu, it is the opportunity of my life! I am going to buy up their whole stock. Then away to good old England! I shall sail in one of my own ships!”

She paused suddenly, seeing trouble and anxiety on his face.

“I hope that you won’t be tempted to do anything so wild and rash,” he began.

“Good old friend, what a wicked witch I am! Don’t you know your mad-cap Kitty by this time? How could I leave my husband, old sobersides John, at Cuddalore all by himself? Moreover, I have other irons in the fire that are as good as diamonds any day.”

“What are they?” he asked with a curiosity that he did not attempt to hide.

She did not reply. At that minute there were voices in the hall below. She sprang from her chair and ran to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Ah! my sweet Cathie and Annie!” she cried as the two elder children rushed into her extended arms.

They were quaint figures with their long frocks of the Queen Anne pattern; and their manners were in accordance with their dress, precise and grown-up.

As she greeted them Kitty’s glance passed beyond and rested on the boy. His curly head was lying on Solomon’s shoulder as he was carried up last in the nursery procession.

She took the child from the man’s arms and kissed him. He was a little younger than her own lost darling, but he was born when she and her husband were living in the Fort. Kitty was his godmother, and he seemed to her to be linked in some mysterious manner with her own child. Perhaps it was because the two mothers had so often talked over their sons as they sat on the beach under the shadow of the Fort walls with the other children and their servants round them.

Davie roused himself when he felt her arms about him and began to chatter.

“Fort St. David is getting so big—bigger than Dadda’s Fort!” he said in a tone that was not going to stand any contradiction.

He expatiated on his domain, giving an account of the damage done by the storm and how Solomon had built it up bigger and stronger than ever.

“Isn’t Davie amusing?” said Cathie with the superiority of age. “But he isn’t old enough to be a President yet.” ‘

“Yes, I are!” replied her brother with more vigour than grammar “I’m growing every day. Solomon says that I grow in the night as soon as I go to sleep. That’s why I can’t see myself growing. I can’t always sleep, godmother; the gnats bite and it is so hot.”

“Then he gets up and runs about in the cold wind, and Mary has to catch him and blow him with her palm leaf,” explained Cathie.

“Oh! that’s very naughty, Davie. You mustn’t run about in the night, you will have fever. You must go to sleep and grow into a big man.”

“As big as a gun,” said the child, intensely interested in himself.

“Yes; and then you must go to school. You can’t be Governor of a fort like Dadda till you have been to school.”

Yale watched the group that had gathered round him, and a great pity filled his heart for the bereaved mother who was looking at his own son with hungry sorrowful eyes even while she smiled. The merchant adventurer in Kitty Nicks had vanished completely; the maternal instinct had usurped the place.

“Dadda, godmother says that I must go to school. Make me a big school and I will go to-morrow.”

His father laughed and fell in with his humour.

“Very well; I will build a large school and you shall go there to learn Latin and Greek and how to govern a fort.”

“You must put lots and lots of boys in it for me to play with.”

“Yes, my son. No expense shall be spared.”

“White boys like me,” persisted the child.

“I promise,” replied his father with due gravity.

“How silly you are, Davie! Black boys don’t go to school,” said Cathie.

“Yes, they do; they do go to school. Dadda told me yesterday that he was busy building a school for black boys in the Fort.” He turned his eager little face to his father “You must build a school for white boys as soon as you have finished the one you were telling me about; and I will be President.”

Cathie’s shrill childish laugh sounded through the room.

“Oh, he is an odd boy! Why, Davie! schools don’t have Presidents. They have Masters.”

“Mine shall have a President,” and he appealed again to his father.

“Come, little ones; come to your supper,” said Mrs. Yale, who remembered that when children were tired and hungry they were apt to be contentious.

“Yes, darling,” said Mrs. Nicks, kissing the boy “You shall have what you like by and by. If you don’t eat your supper and sleep you will not grow up, and then you can’t go to school.”

She held him up to his father that he might receive his good night kiss. The bright eyes that had been bent so defiantly on Yale as the Directors were spoken of were now suffused with tears. His heart ached for her, and his hand closed over hers in warm sympathetic pity for one brief second.

“God’s will be done, Kitty,” he whispered.

“Aye! One is taken and the other left; we know not why,” she replied bravely as she turned to follow Mrs. Yale into the nursery.

Chapter VII

The sunlight died away, carrying its gorgeous colour with it. Land and sea settled into the deep greys of rapidly approaching night. The sea of a cool indigo tint was still restless and uneasy; it had not forgotten its ill-treatment under the heavy blasts of the storm. There were only two lines of breakers now, but they were sufficient to send their voices inland and proclaim to river and lake how the ocean had been lashed.

The voice of the sea is ever present at Fort St. George. The place sleeps and awakes to the sound. Sometimes it is only a gentle murmur when each separate wave can be distinguished as it curls over with a wash upon the sand. But after the wind has been at work the many voices of the breakers are merged into one deep roar. Those whose lives are passed in the Fort learn to love the sound of the sea; and they miss it in the silence of the country inland.

Yale was listening to the subdued thunder of the waves when his wife and her companion returned from the nursery. His thoughts had gone back to the St. Thoma beach and were busy with the unknown slave-trader, whose evil deeds had been exposed by the storm. Mrs. Yale seated herself by his side.

“I hope my tea refreshed you, Elihu,” she said, looking at him with anxious eyes. She turned to Kitty who sat in the chair she had occupied before. “This has been very unlike our usual Sabbath; Elihu was obliged to go to St. Thoma directly after the morning service.”

“I suppose both ships have become total wrecks,” observed Mrs. Nicks. “When one owns ships, though they are only coasting vessels, one knows what real anxiety is when the weather is bad.”

“Elihu is not troubled over the ships. The storm is the finger of God and we must accept its consequences without murmuring,” said Mrs. Yale.

Mrs. Nicks glanced at Yale for an explanation of his wife’s cryptic speech. He did not offer to enlighten her. There was no need to question; Mrs. Yale continued:

“He went to see what could be done to save the wreckage thrown up by the sea. While he was there four dead slaves were washed ashore. They were chained together, which showed that they were shipped against their will. The odd part about it was that they were entangled in a broken spar and a piece of torn sail belonging to Captain Goodwyn’s ship.”

Did the colour mount into Mrs. Nicks’s face as she listened? Yale could not be sure for the light had grown dim.

“That tells a tale!” she cried in some excitement “But it is a tale that I can scarcely believe of Captain Goodwyn.”

“Nor I!—at least, I don’t wish to believe it,” added Yale quickly.

“It is a wicked cruel thing to do.” continued Mrs. Yale with a quiver in her voice “I shall not forget my poor Elizabeth. I bought her of a Moorman when she was only twelve years old. Her parents died in that dreadful famine that we had some years ago. She was to have married Solomon when she was seventeen, Davie’s servant. A month before the wedding she disappeared and we never saw her again. Poor Solomon, how he cried!”

“I hope he has got over it; he’s a good servant,” said Mrs. Nicks.

“I’ve given Mary to him instead. They were married two months ago and are very happy. I hope nothing will happen to her. Davie is devoted to his Mary. He would fret himself to death if he lost her.”

“Did you ever discover anything about Elizabeth?” asked Mrs. Nicks.

“Nothing at all! There was a rumour that she was kidnapped in the Blacktown.”

Mrs. Nicks turned suddenly to Yale, who was deep in thought, and asked:

“Have you any suspicion who it is, Elihu?”

“No; the whole thing is a mystery,” he replied abruptly, as though the subject was one that he did not care to discuss.

“What is Captain Bett doing? I suppose he has made inquiries. What has he discovered?”

“That the traffic is going on at more than one port on this coast, north and south of us, as well as in this place.”

“And he can’t lay his hands on the culprit?” asked Mrs. Nicks, watching the President closely.

“If he could, the man would not be at large; we should bring him to justice,” replied Yale, who was finding it difficult to keep his indignation in check.

Mrs. Nicks laughed softly as though amused. Her mirth, slight as it was, struck a note that jarred on Yale. He glanced at her with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, as though he would ask what she saw amusing in a matter that was serious in all its phases.

“Old Bett must be furious,” she remarked “He prides himself on being able to fathom all sorts of mysteries. Here he has come across one that is too hard a nut to crack.”

“We shall be successful in the end,” asserted Yale severely “We shall catch the person sooner or later, I feel sure. I will spare neither my dearest friend nor my nearest relative, so determined am I not to let the trade continue. It is the very thing to embroil us with the natives. At present we are only troubled with their rulers. If the people rose against us we should fare badly.”

His eyes were upon Mrs. Nicks as he spoke. The smile vanished and she began to run her fingers over the beautiful Indian embroidery on the bodice of her muslin frock, a little trick that Yale knew of old as indicative of deep consideration. She was thinking of the first part of his speech. The attitude of the natives towards the Company’s servants did not trouble her.

“Then there is a limit to your friendship, Elihu? There is a point where you would withdraw it?” she asked.

He did not answer immediately. A large planet emerged from the bank of cloud that still rested in the eastern sky.

“I have no sympathy with the slave-dealer,” he replied shortly, avoiding her eyes as he spoke.

“Yet we all own slaves,” she said “Only six weeks ago I bad to buy twenty strong full-grown men to act as porters and warehouse servants. I can’t get my ships unloaded without them.”

“Nor can the Company, nor indeed can any of us; but that is very different from the slave-trading that is being carried on secretly to provide Sumatra and Java with labour.”

Mrs. Nicks continued the story of her own transactions, and avoided the subject that was occupying Yale’s mind to the exclusion of all other interests.

“Not only had I to pay a long price for them, but I had a difficulty in procuring them in Cuddalore.”

“Where did you find them?” he asked quickly.

“Not far from Gingee.”

“Gingee!” exclaimed Yale “That’s some way out of Cuddalore. What took you there?”

“Business of my own,” replied Mrs. Nicks with a glance of her eyes that might have betokened a hint that he must not be too inquisitive. “The country round Gingee is so unsettled with Sivajee’s disorderly troops on one hand and the rumoured approach of the Moghul’s army on the other, that the people are well-nigh as panic-stricken as they are at Golcondah. They don’t know which way to turn for safety and protection; they are ready to sell their goods and even themselves so that they may escape the lawless soldiers.”

“Did the men come to you willingly?”

“Quite willingly. They seemed to have some understanding with the Moorman who brought them. I gathered that he had advanced money to purchase their release from one of the frightened owners. He had made enough on the transaction to repay himself with interest and give the men a trifle of pocket-money as well. He was pleased with his share of the bargain and offered to bring me more if I wanted them.”

“Which of course you did not. I am surprised that you have enough work to keep as many as twenty men employed,” remarked Yale “It is a strange system; and it is not good for the people. I have known natives sell themselves into slavery to pay off debts contracted through gross extravagance over weddings. It is running a foolish risk if they only knew it.”

“The trade offers great temptations,” said Mrs. Nicks “It is the most lucrative in the country. Those men of mine would fetch double the price in Sumatra or in Ceylon. Slave trading is better than pepper and spice; better than diamonds from a financial point of view. And it is unfettered by the Company’s taxes.”

Mrs. Nicks’s eyes were fixed dreamily upon the shining planet, and she spoke as though she had forgotten Yale’s presence and were thinking aloud. He could not guess what was passing in her speculative mind. His voice recalled her from her dreams.

“Attached to the trade are conditions that do not appeal to the Christian merchant. Setting aside the cruelty of it and the fact that it is illegal, there is the risk of the slave dealer being caught red-handed and hung as a pirate.”

Her eyes came back from the star and turned with a startled gaze on the speaker.

“Why as a pirate?” she asked sharply.

“I can hang a man for piracy; but for murder and brutality I have to send him to England for trial. I should have no scruple in prosecuting a slave-dealer for piracy if I caught him deporting natives to Sumatra or Ceylon. I should most assuredly hang him; for I am determined to put down the traffic in human flesh.”

“Elihu!” exclaimed Mrs. Yale, who had been a silent listener. She was shocked at the vehemence of his words “You would never hang a European!”

“Indeed, I should!” he said with a finality that ended the conversation “There is seven o’clock striking. I must be off; I have an appointment before supper.”

He rose from his chair and went to his room. The two Englishwomen dropped at once into family talk, house, servants and children. Yale was not long in completing his toilet, pulling out his lace frills, settling his large wig upon his head and fastening on his sword. A servant carried his hat and followed him down the stairs where the peons were in attendance to conduct him in state to the Fort House. He found Mrs. Nicks on the doorstep, having just said good night to his wife. He stopped as though he would speak.

“Well, what is it?” she asked, pausing on her way. Then as he hesitated she continued: “ Out with it, Elihu! It’s another lecture, I’ll warrant!”

“Kitty, had you any goods on the Raven?”

She did not reply at once. With a little laugh she looked up at him. Mischief lurked in her eyes.

“Now, Sir President! this is very naughty of you. What will you do if I boldly admit the truth and say yes? You have no business to know!”

“Weren’t they registered?”

“H’m! some of them were.”

“And what had you shipped with Goodwyn that were not registered?”

“Ah, that is my secret!” she cried.

“I wish you would tell me, Kitty. I will keep your counsel,” he said with some gravity.

“Better not know too much! Knowledge is dangerous to the peace of mind of a law-abiding Governor,” she replied with a provoking smile.

“Tell me!” he persisted.

“They were goods not mentioned on the Company’s list of monopolies; so what can it matter to the President and his council?”

“You did not enter them on the lading-sheet in their right name; but shipped them as?”

She put up her red lips and whispered in his ear:

“Black Gingee silks.”

Yale stared at her in astonishment. Was she fooling him? He knew that she was capable of it and would rather enjoy the fun of misleading him.

“They don’t weave silk at Gingee,” he said.

“We will call it silk for the present. Good night again, old friend. Don’t let curiosity coupled with anxiety spin cobwebs in your brain.”

He took his hat from his servant and put it on. The peon lifted the roundel and the President moved away in silent state. She watched him up the street on his way to the Fort House.

“The President wants to know too much. We must nip his curiosity in the bud,” she said, nodding her head as she too walked away.

Supper was on the table when she joined her host and hostess. There was an abundance of food and an army of servants to help it. Jearsey being a free merchant was not called upon to take his meals anywhere else but in his own house.

William Jearsey was a middle-aged man on whose face the climate and certain adverse circumstances had left their mark. Seeing him as he sat there with an excellently appointed table, and his comfortable-looking Dutch wife smiling at him from the opposite end of the table, no one would guess that he had faced trouble. But the lines about his mouth showed that life had not always gone smoothly with him. The trouble was an affair of the heart. His love story was well known throughout the Fort.

Years ago when he came out as a servant of the Company, a young merchant seeking his fortune, a certain Mistress Povey promised faithfully that she would follow him to foreign lands to be his wife.

In all good faith she prepared to fulfil her promise. She bought her wedding outfit and marked the fair linen garments with her future name, laughing the while at the old gossips who told her that it was an unlucky action. Dowered with many gifts and good wishes, she set sail with the Company’s permission to the East on one of their vessels.

On board the ship there was a handsome young mate named White, a man of good family in the west of England. From the very beginning of the voyage he paid Miss Povey attentions which she accepted a little too readily. The voyage was long in those days, and while the ship sailed lazily over the “summer seas” of the Indian Ocean, William Jearsey, all ignorant of the fact, lost a love which he could never regain.

Miss Povey, it appeared, had a conscience. She tried to do her duty and give herself to the merchant. She landed as Jearsey’s future bride and nothing was said as to the change that had taken place in her affections. Probably she would have fulfilled her engagement if White had gone on with the ship to Siam, for which place it was destined.

Maddened with love for the girl and ready to risk everything in the attainment of his desire, he left the ship and stayed behind in Madras without leave from the council or the captain.

As long as he was within reach she could not bring herself to pronounce the vows to Jearsey that would for ever divide her from her lover. She put Jearsey off with excuses whenever he pressed her to “name the day.” Finally, driven desperate, she confessed in a tragic scene that she loved him no longer and she returned him all his gifts.

Her action did not meet with the approval of the residents of the Fort, who had a great respect and liking for the merchant. She soon discovered that the Fort was no place for her. White urged their speedy marriage and departure. But an unexpected difficulty arose. The chaplain of the Fort refused to marry them. White was a man of resources as well as perseverance. He overcame the difficulty by going to the French priest. They were married in the little Roman Catholic Church of the Fort. They took ship immediately afterwards and no one regretted their departure.

The affair had its effect on Jearsey. He made no attempt to seek distraction in a wild life of dissipation. He found solace in another form of excitement. He plunged into speculations of all kinds and tried to forget his trouble in the fever of money-making. He became reckless and some said godless.

Tales of his irregular trading came before the council and were sent home to the Directors; the result was that they dispensed with his services and informed him that they had struck his name off their register.

He begged to be allowed to remain in the Fort with a licence to trade inland as a free merchant; thanks to the good offices of his old friends, the request was granted.

He married a worthy house-wife and settled down to a regular life. As he occupied himself almost exclusively with the legitimate inland trade the Directors had nothing to say against him, and he remained in the Fort for many years. No one who had not heard his story would ever have guessed that the reserved brusque-mannered merchant had ever been heart-broken over a faithless woman.

He looked up as Mrs. Nicks entered.

“Come along,” he said, “supper is ready. Where have you been?”

“She has been to church, Jearsey,” said his wife, as Kitty did not reply immediately.

“And quite right too! Women need all the kind offices of the chaplain to keep them out of the devil’s clutches.”

“For shame, husband!” cried Mrs. Jearsey, while Kitty laughed.

“I never see you at church, Mr. Jearsey,” she said as she seated herself opposite Margery “You have as much need to go there and listen to Mr. Elliott’s words as I have.”

“That’s true!” he rejoined heartily and with good humour “We are both of the same feather, you and I, Mrs. Nicks. We are both traders and hucksters in petty byways which the Directors despise. Let me give you some of this chicken pie; it is most excellent and made from my wife’s own recipe.”

He was appreciative of Mrs. Jearsey’s house-keeping. It had reconciled him in a measure to his fate. He had reason to doubt if “Mistress Povey” would ever have made such an excellent housewife.

“Had you any goods on the Raven?” asked Mrs. Nicks presently.

“Not I! 1 I’ve done with interlopers. They bring as much trouble into a man’s life as a woman does.”

“And I suppose Piet follows your example?”

“Certainly he does,” put in Mrs. Jearsey, ever ready to stand up for her nephew “He is a good lad, walking in his uncle’s footsteps. Margery dear, you are not making much of a supper.”

“She had a fright this morning and has lost her appetite,” said Mrs. Nicks.

It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that the girl had lost something else besides her appetite; but she pulled herself up sharply. It would be best to keep silence on the subject of Margery’s emotion that morning. She was engaged to Piet, and Piet’s aunt would have quick ears for anything of the nature of the repetition of the history of Mistress Povey and her two lovers in Margery’s life. Mrs. Nicks turned the attention of the company to another subject, and went on to describe the recovery of the dead bodies of the slaves at St. Thoma. Jearsey listened with increasing interest.

“So, then, there’s somebody at work not far from here!” remarked the free merchant. “I hope with all my heart that the President will catch him and do as he threatens; hang him for a pirate. We are forced to have dealings in slaves as we can’t get on without them. But let us be humane and Christian; and not behave as heathens.”

“The torn sail that was found about them looks bad for Goodwyn,” remarked Mrs. Jearsey.

“Yes!” responded her husband “The President will have something to say to him to-morrow after the meeting of the council. Margery, child, you are tired; you had better go to bed. Piet will not be in to-night. He told me that he would be too busy to come.”

“What is he doing?” asked the girl in a tone of indifference that made Jearsey glance again at her.

“He is singing hymns with the charity’ children. It is their treat on a Sunday evening,” replied Mrs. Jearsey complacently; she delighted in Piet’s good works.

Whereat Mrs. Nicks laughed, and Jearsey gave a grunt which did not sound as if it meant approval of his nephew’s actions.

Chapter VIII

The morning broke gloriously fine. There was heavy rain in the night; but by daybreak the clouds dispersed and the sun shone on land and sea. The air was wonderfully clear, betokening another burst of the monsoon before long. The water was an intense blue and the surf glistened upon it with the whiteness of snow. The wind came from the north-east. Its freshness awoke the dormant life in the newly-watered vegetation.

Along the line of high water there was a fringe: of drift from the sea. Tangled trails of sea-weed, delicate shells of the palest pink and sulphur colour; starfish and other strange fleshy creatures torn from the depths of the sea were thrown up together with wreckage old and new.

The Muckwas searched the beach from the first coming of dawn. Old men who could no longer go out with the fishing-boats crept along with their baskets. Women and small children followed behind picking up what the old eyes missed. After them came the carrion crows, quarrelsome and aggressive towards the rest of creation, from the gull down to the smallest crab. The crabs disappeared into holes in the wet sand, or drifted into the surf at the edge of the broken wave, before the crows could snap them up.

The daily morning prayers which the Directors ordered to be said by their chaplain were over. The President and the council had gathered in the council chamber to carry on the usual business. They sat round a carved black wood table, the President taking the chair. The members of the council ranged themselves on each side of him in the order of their rank. The full complement was eight, but they were not always all present.

Books, letters and bundles of papers lay before Yale, relating to the sale or purchase of goods; to the cargoes of ships; and to payments large and small for merchandise and for labour. It was just such matter as may be found lying on the table of a modern firm of merchants with the addition of a little municipal and military business.

Politics crept in now and then in spite of the oft repeated orders of the Directors that their servants were to avoid interference with the governments of the country. The Directors did not understand in their secure English homes how much their Indian affairs were dependent on politics.

Ten years before this date Sir Streynsham Master as President tried unsuccessfully to show them that something more was needed than the mild peaceful merchant in dealing with autocratic princes and people who broke faith. The merchant who desired justice in the East at that period was compelled to have one hand on the sword while he tendered his bullion with the other. It might not be necessary to draw the sword, but it should be girded on ready to be drawn. Without an armed force behind him he commanded neither respect nor consideration. The man who temporized and offered bribes—presents as they were termed in the Directors’ letters—was likely to be despised and oppressed.

Streynsham Master presented a bold front to Sivajee when the Mahrattas overran the country round Madras, and the merchant-soldier was left unmolested. But Master’s policy displeased the Directors in spite of the indisputable fact that he had strengthened their colony, increased their revenues and raised their prestige. The only reward he received from his ungrateful employers was his recall to answer a series of trivial and vexatious charges.

Elihu Yale’s task as Governor was full of difficulties. He had plenty of courage but he was no soldier. He was essentially a merchant in his policy and in his manner of life. Fond of state and show, proud of his Fort and his guns, and fully aware of the necessity of impressing the natives with a belief in the power and resources of the English, he was nevertheless slow to draw the sword. He preferred to fall back on diplomacy and palaver.

Native rulers and ambassadors were received with suave politeness and an ostentatious display of pageantry in which the troops occupied a conspicuous place. They were charmed with his courtesy, and dazzled by the parade of guns, flags and music, which he was careful to let them understand were all presented in their honour. They were pleased and made sure that they would obtain all they had come to demand.

They were out of their reckoning. After much palaver they departed with their mission unfulfilled. They failed to secure the blackmail which was the object of their visit and their demands for future concessions were left unanswered; or if answered it was with promises that were not likely to be fulfilled.

If they became angry and threatened him, he put his fortifications in order and showed himself prepared to defend his masters’ property against any attack.

The meeting in the council chamber with Yale presiding was not therefore a consultation of law-givers gathered together in the name of the sovereign to administer justice and deal with revenue in the interests of the nations governed. It was a commercial consultation conducted by men expert in buying and selling and opening up new trade centres. When it was over the President was ready to attend in person to trivial matters which have long since been relegated to less important officials.

The wreck of the Borneo was reported officially and entered on the books. The loss of what cargo there was on board at the time was written off. Letters from Cuddalore, relative to the purchase of the fort at Tevanaputnam were read; and advices from Masulipatam of the irregular action of the Dutch were commented upon.

Mr. Daniel Chardin reported his arrival with diamonds bought on commission for the Company. He also gave the council the latest information concerning the movements of the Moghul. A consultation followed as to the strength of Fort St. George’s fortifications. Could they sustain a possible siege by a hostile army, and were the supplies sufficient of grain and salted meat?

When the ordinary business was concluded, Captain Goodwyn was sent for to be interrogated about the loss of his ship, and his request—being homeless—to stay for a time in the Fort. He must provide himself with another command or obtain employment of some kind either in Madras or Calcutta; and until he could do this he would have to be the guest of one of the merchants. Goodwyn was closely questioned about the Raven. On the whole he acquitted himself to the satisfaction of the council. Yale was not satisfied. He had in his mind the dead slaves who were washed ashore at St. Thoma.

Bridger at the request of the council brought his guest, also to be examined. The castaway was restored to health and seemed none the worse for having been nearly drowned. He had the same request to make. He wished to stay in the Fort until he could find employment. His request was refused at once. He was told that if he wished to remain, he could only do so by entering the Company’s service. The President was badly in need of men for the garrison. Yale admitted that this consideration was in his mind when he gave permission for the stranger to be taken in as Bridger’s guest. When the man was asked to give his name and ship he hesitated. On being pressed by Bridger himself he said he was John Mitchell; and that he had shipped in England as one of the crew of the Borneo. The list of the crew of the Borneo was referred to and his name was found as a boatswain. This being so, there was no question about the garrison being the proper place for him. If he still desired to follow his calling as a sailor, he would be drafted in the course of time to another vessel returning to England; meanwhile he must serve as a soldier.

The council rose at the conclusion of the examination of Goodwyn and Mitchell. They departed, leaving Yale behind seated at the table. As the last member disappeared the Governor called to one of the assistant secretaries, who was waiting to put the books away and close the room.

“Mr. Roberts, will you kindly ask Captain Goodwyn to come back. I shall also want to see Mitchell again. He must wait till I send for him.”

Gabriel Roberts hurried away to do his bidding and returned in a short time with Goodwyn. The mariner was a man of about forty. He was big and burly and of the seafaring type, loud-voiced from being accustomed to give his orders in the open air.

“I want to have a few words with you, Captain Goodwyn. I won’t detain you long,” said Yale with his unfailing courtesy.

“Certainly, sir,” replied the Captain of the interloper who was not feeling as comfortable as he looked.

“Have you a copy of the names of the people who shipped goods with you on the Raven?”

Goodwyn, never very ready with his tongue, unless thoroughly irritated, when his words flowed fast and furious, did not reply. Yale repeated his question.

“The papers of the ship went down with her, sir.”

“Yes; but you were ashore at St. Thoma, I am told, when the storm began. You tried to get to your ship, but were not successful.”

“That was so; and a nasty spill I had in the surf with the boatmen. Two out of the four were drowned.”

“And the other two?”

“They were natives and they have gone to their homes on the coast.”

“Probably you had some of your private papers with you when you went ashore.” As Goodwyn made no reply, Yale continued: “I am not asking for an inventory of the cargo. I have a list of all the goods on which the dues were paid. There was other merchandise which was free of tax. I should thank you if you could let me have a look at a complete list of the people who shipped with you.”

Goodwyn still remained silent, as though in doubt. To accede to the President’s request would virtually commit him to a breach of confidence towards the people who had committed their merchandise to his care.

“I am asking you for this list privately and in confidence. If I had needed it officially I should have demanded it when you came before the council an hour ago.”

The Captain made no further demur.

“I don’t see why I should hesitate, sir, since there is nothing whatever to be ashamed of in it.”

He drew from his pocket a leather case and produced the required list, which he handed to Yale. The President ran his eye down the long column of names. Yes, there it was; then she had spoken the truth.

“Mrs. Nicks, Cuddalore.” He looked up at Goodwyn “She shipped several bales of Gingee silk, I believe.”

The Captain of the Raven lifted his eyebrows.

“How did you know that, sir?” he asked, a sudden suspicion darting through his mind that somehow or other Yale had come into possession of the ship’s papers.

“Mrs. Nicks told me so herself,” replied Yale curtly.

Goodwyn gave a sigh of relief. He was a little surprised, however, that she had confided her affairs to no less a person than the Governor himself.

“If that is so then I need not be silent,” he said, as though not sorry to be relieved of the responsibility of keeping the counsel of one of his clients.

“Let me see; where did she say the bales were to have been landed? Was it Ceylon or Sumatra?”

“They were for Trincomalee in Ceylon.”

“To whom were they consigned?”

“To a Moorman, one of the big merchants there named Ismail Sait.”

“I know him; he has dealings with the Sumatra and Java coasts. He supplies us with cinnamon sometimes,” said Yale.

Goodwyn laughed as he watched the President.

“Cinnamon is the monopoly of the Dutch in Ceylon,” he remarked.

“If it is we ignore it. We recognize no other rights than our own,” rejoined Yale quickly, as he continued reading down the list “I see you have a note here to the effect that you had a dozen cases of red chillies on board for the owner of the ship, George Creede.”

“Yes, sir; he asked me to get him some country chillies for a new sauce he is compounding. There is no duty on chillies, is there?”

“None whatever,” Yale hastened to assure him. He returned the paper. “Sit down a minute, Captain Goodwyn. I have another question or two to ask presently. Meanwhile perhaps you will not mind drinking the health of the Directors, although it is a little early in the day to bring out the glasses.”

It was a common custom with the senior members of the council to dispense the Company’s hospitality in this way. No large transaction was considered complete till it had been ratified, or “wetted” as it was familiarly called, with a drink. There is a record of glasses of wine having been taken on one occasion in the street, when some bargain, much coveted by the Company, had been concluded at a chance meeting of the principals.

Captain Goodwyn had no objection to a glass of Madeira. While the wine was being brought Yale spoke a few words to Roberts, who again left the room. He returned bringing with him the young Englishman who had been washed ashore at St. Thoma, and who had been befriended by Bridger.

As he entered Captain Goodwyn was in the act of lifting the glass to his lips. His hand rested half-way, and for a few seconds the fearless black eyes of the mariner were fixed upon the fair face of Mitchell. Then the glass travelled on and the wine disappeared down his throat. Yale was looking at Mitchell.

“I have seen Captain Bett,” he said, addressing Mitchell. “He tells me that he is ready to take you on the strength of the garrison. When our seamen are without a ship they are expected, indeed obliged, to serve with the garrison, as perhaps you are aware.”

“I have learned it since I came ashore, sir. I will do my best to give the Commandant satisfaction.”

Something in his tone arrested Yale’s attention. His speech was not that of an uneducated man.

“Can you read and write?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mitchell, biting his lips the moment after he had spoken.

The President raised his eyebrows as he said pointedly:

“A strange accomplishment for a common sailor. If that be the case you will have a better chance of rising in the garrison than in the seafaring line. We want men with a little education as corporals and sergeants. It is a good opening for anyone who is steady and may lead to a commission.”

John Mitchell again expressed his thanks; he waited for the word of dismissal. He wore an old suit belonging to Bridger. It was not only too short for him, but it was also very shabby. Yale contemplated his figure with speculation that suggested several things. He was not satisfied with the explanation the stranger had given of himself.

It was well known that Englishmen of good education had taken advantage of the subordinate service in the Company in order to get out to the East. They were willing to serve as common soldiers and sailors to accomplish their purpose. Once safely landed in India they found a domicile in some big town in which the Company had no factory or settlement and they started trading on their own account, trusting to the interloper to carry their goods to some market that was remunerative. A conviction was growing in Yale’s mind that the so-called John Mitchell, who had worked his way out on board the Borneo, might belong to this class of free lances. His train of thought was disturbed by Goodwyn, who inquired if the President was contemplating an enlargement of the garrison.

“Our Commandant is very anxious to increase the force. I also want to strengthen the garrison at Cuddalore. I should like a score or more of the stamp of this man. Let me fill your glass again,” said Yale, taking up the decanter.

Goodwyn ran a critical and amused eye over the strange figure presented by Mitchell clothed in the old Stuart garments as he held out his glass.

“He is a fine lad and should make a good soldier,” he observed.

Goodwyn drank the liquor slowly. The wine was excellent, strong and exhilarating and very much to his taste, though he was not given to excess. He put his glass down and pulled out a large China silk handkerchief in which he buried his face, blowing his nose with more violence than grace.

Yale was busy with his pen. When he had finished he looked up at Mitchell, on whose face it seemed to him that he had detected the shadow of a smile, a fact that confirmed his suspicion that he was an adventurer. Mitchell gave no sign that he was pleased or otherwise with the situation. His eyes were cast thoughtfully upon the ragged boots into which he had with difficulty thrust his feet and legs. Goodwyn’s face was flushed under the influence perhaps of the two glasses of Madeira.

“Mr. Roberts,” said the President to the secretary, “Take Mitchell down to the barracks and give this letter to Captain Bett.” Addressing the new recruit he continued: “You are going now to be seen by the Commandant of the garrison. If he approves of you, he will have you sworn in. It is a good service for those who are steady and will do their duty. Take my advice and try to rise in it.”

Goodwyn’s eyes twinkled as he listened to this harangue. As the President’s attention was directed to Mitchell he did not observe the gleam of suppressed amusement his preaching caused. Mitchell saluted awkwardly and followed Roberts from the room. As soon as the door was closed upon them Yale turned to Goodwyn and asked: “Have you seen John Mitchell before?”

There was a momentary pause before Goodwyn replied, assuring the Governor that he had never seen John Mitchell in his life.

“This man is not one of your crew?”

“No, that I’ll swear!” responded Goodwyn at once.

“I can’t identify him to my satisfaction with any one of the men on the Borneo; but of course I did not know them personally. Unfortunately he is the only man who has been saved from the wreck. The captain and crew have all been drowned.”

He pulled some papers towards him that were lying on the table and turned them over in search of the list.

“Here are the names of the crew with their descriptions, a provision against desertion: ‘John Mitchell, aged thirty years; native of Yorkshire. Height six feet; fair hair; blue eyes; large square hands; a strong able-bodied man of quiet disposition; and good conduct.’ This man doesn’t look thirty nor does he speak with the Yorkshire tongue. And he is six feet one instead of six feet.”

“Fair men never do look their age,” remarked Goodwyn.

“And his hands, though they are not small, are the hands of a gentleman. If I remember right he did not come ashore in the dress of a sailor.”

“As for that the ship was wrecked in the night; he might have been in any pair of breeches that he could snatch up in the hurry of the moment,” replied Goodwyn “Men have no time to pick and choose when their craft is going to pieces on the sands. I shouldn’t set much store by that fact, sir.”

Goodwyn rose as though he would be glad to receive his dismissal. Yale did not, however, say the word that would set him free.

“You have lost your ship, Captain Goodwyn, which is equivalent, I am afraid, to having lost your house and home. What are you going to do with yourself?” asked the President, who had not risen. He motioned to the Captain to sit down again, which he did unwillingly.

Goodwyn was of opinion that he had told the President quite enough, and he would gladly have escaped further cross-examination. At this searching question he became grave. The loss was great, although not so severe as it was to the owner.

“I haven’t had time to cast about and settle anything. Do you think, sir, that the Company would be likely to take me into their service and give me a ship?” he asked.

Yale shook his head.

“It is of no use raising your hopes in that direction. We are not allowed to appoint officers to ships homeward bound. All we can do is to recommend a man. He would have to return to England to receive his ship.”

“I might be glad to have the recommendation if I can get a passage home.”

“I can’t promise even that,” said Yale, sorry in his heart to disappoint one whose luck was down; but not in the least disposed to favour Goodwyn’s cause. As Goodwyn remained silent he continued: “You have not been as careful as you might have been with the Raven.”

The other looked up in surprise and asked:

“In what way have I trespassed on the Company’s rights?”

“In their last advices from London the Directors warned us that you were suspected of having carried goods for your employer, Creede, without having paid the tax; in short, you have been guilty of interloping. Creede, I learn from the Directors, is a Bristol man. He had the impudence to apply for leave to come out to the East. At the same time he refused to pay for a licence. They did not grant his request.”

“Of course I know that the Company’s charter is not to be infringed; and I maintain that I, personally, have not broken it. I don’t defend my employer’s action in asking leave. Hundreds of men make the request. What I don’t understand is why the Directors should be angry with Mr. Creede. They refused, and there was an end of it.”

“According to the letters I have received, it was not the end of it. Creede wrote impertinently on receipt of the refusal denying their right to forbid him journeying to the East as long as he did not set foot in one of their settlements. He was quite ready to recognize their refusal to allow him to visit any of their factories; but he pointed out that the Company did not own the whole of the East; there was room for everybody; and he, for one, intended to please himself. The Directors replied that if he was caught in one of their settlements, they would have him imprisoned as a defaulting interloper.”

Goodwyn listened in silence, and had no remark to offer when Yale finished. The President strongly suspected that it was not news to him. After a pause the captain of the Raven said:

“Would there be any objection to my serving as a pilot? I have a fair knowledge of the Hugli river.”

“None at all; and I should be pleased to recommend you for it, if it would be of any help,” replied Yale with more geniality than he had hitherto shown to the interloping captain.

Goodwyn thanked him warmly.

“It is a lucrative business and enables a man to put by a tidy little sum of money; but for all that I would rather have a ship. It is a case of beggars not being choosers, however; and I must take what I can get. I suppose, sir, that the council will grant me a passage to the Bay in one of their ships?”

“Certainly; but there will be none going just yet. For the present the council wishes you to remain in the Fort.”

Goodwyn raised his eyebrows.

“That sounds very much like an order to remain, sir.”

“You may take it as such; and I must ask you not to quit the Fort without permission.”

The Captain’s astonishment increased.

“Am I to consider myself a prisoner at large in the Fort?” he demanded, his anger rising.

“You are not exactly a prisoner; and it will depend entirely upon yourself how soon you may count upon being free to leave.”

“May I ask why I am being treated in this manner?” Yale hesitated.

He had no definite accusation to make against him, and no evidence to confirm his suspicions. He might have left the question unanswered. The authority of the Directors was exercised in an autocratic manner in their settlements. They were not obliged to give reasons for their decrees. Yale thought that it would be best, however, to let Goodwyn know exactly how matters stood. There was no occasion to hide the truth.

“You have heard by this time what happened at St. Thoma. Yesterday four dead slaves were washed ashore. They were chained together; and there seems to be no doubt that they were shipped contrary to my regulations and against their own consent. I have examined the register book myself and can find no entry of any slaves for exportation during last month or this.”

Goodwyn’s sunburned cheek reddened, and an angry light sprang into his eye as he replied hotly:

“And what in heaven’s name has it to do with me, sir?”

“Only this: that the bodies came ashore entangled in cordage and a fragment of canvas. The torn sail bore upon it the letters ‘Ra——,’ part of the name of your own ship.”

An oath escaped the lips of his hearer.

“It was none of my sails; it did not belong to my ship; that I’ll swear! Who saw it?”

“I for one,” responded Yale “There were other witnesses besides myself. My brother, Mr. Higgenson, Wavell, Freeman, Captain Bett. Ask any of these and they will tell you the same story.”

Yale’s colour had heightened. Goodwyn in his indignation at the implied charge had forgotten his courtesy and the respect that was due to a man in Yale’s position.

“I mean, sir, that I never carried on such a trade,” said Goodwyn, controlling his temper “Those slaves were never on my ship. That I will swear before all the courts in Europe and Asia. I may not be guiltless in the matter of interloping. Who doesn’t do it in the East now and then? You must look elsewhere for the slave-dealer.”

“The testimony of the sail is strong,” remarked Yale.

“The sail lied!” replied Goodwyn roughly.

Yale’s anger was not lessened by the denial, and he said with greater heat than he had shown hitherto:

“Until you can convince me that you had nothing to do with it, I wish you to remain in the Fort.”

“That I will do right willingly. I will not leave the Fort till my name is cleared. No need to put a guard over me, sir. I shall demand an inquiry by the council in the matter. It is only fair to myself and my employer.”

The man’s tone and manner carried conviction. Yale regained his self-control and replied more temperately:

“It shall be done. If you did not carry those men on board your ship—I should like to believe that you did not—can you tell me how they became entangled in your wreckage?”

“Were the men clinging to it?”

Yale considered for a minute; he was anxious to make no mistake. To pursue the wrong man and follow up a false scent would do more harm than good.

“No; they were not. I helped with my own hands to free the bodies from the mass of cordage, which was washed round them. They clung to each other as a number of drowning men will cling who cannot swim.”

“Then it is easy to understand how they became entangled. The sea washed them into the wreckage.”

“It is just possible, but hardly probable. You were at St. Thoma when the storm began, I have been told. Who was your friend there?”

“Juan Gomez, one of the Portuguese merchants of St. Thoma.”

“I know him. He was a friend of William Alley years ago and therefore not free from suspicion,” remarked Yale as he rose from his seat.

Goodwyn laughed roughly, a frown upon his brow.

“Who is free from suspicion nowadays? Every man suspects his neighbour of crooked dealings, and some their own brothers.”

“Good day, Captain Goodwyn,” said Yale shortly.

Goodwyn did not fail to note that the President omitted to offer his hand at parting.

Chapter IX

The market or bazaar where the inhabitants of the Fort bought the daily supply for the house was on the north just outside the Middle Gate. Here also were the sheds, not worthy of the name of barracks, occupied by the garrison. Between the walls and the market there was an open space which was used by the troops for exercise and parade purposes.

On weekdays the market presented a busy scene from sunrise to noon. The rows of little bouticas, as they were called, were open, their hanging wooden shutters propped up to form a shelter from the sun. Grain and cotton merchants, potters and metal workers, butchers, greengrocers, fish-dealers and sellers of native sweets occupied different parts of the market. Their wares were displayed in groups and formed great splashes of colour that filled the eye. The Europeans, dressed in white for the most part, mingled with the crowds of natives clad in scarlet, deep blue, yellow and white. It was a picturesque scene such as may be found in any of the large towns of South India to this day.

The parade ground was kept clear of stalls; but there was no objection to its being used by the native merchants who required no permanent stall. They spread mats on the border of the open space and showed samples of the goods they had for sale. They were ready to take orders for wares to be delivered later, from a few yards of calico to a hundred bales of raw material.

The cotton and jute merchants were of the unmistakable Hindu race of South India, brown-skinned, naked to the waist except for a large handkerchief of the finest white muslin thrown over the shoulder. They wore no turbans; their heads were shaven all but the lock of hair hanging from the crown by which they hoped to be carried to the place of departed souls.

There were other men of fairer complexion with handsome features and athletic frames showing Arab blood. Their manners were more dignified than those of the Hindus; and their clothes were cut and shaped by the hand of a tailor. Others, again, were almost as white of skin as the Europeans. They came from Persia and Armenia, bringing rich embroideries, carpets and shawls from the north.

Mingling with Hindu, Arabian, Persian and Armenian were some keen sharp-eyed Asiatics, bearing the stamp of travel; men who slept armed and carried their property on their persons. They were dealers in diamonds and precious stones. India was known to them from Cashmere to Cape Comorin. They spoke three or four languages, but Hindustani and the vernacular Portuguese were their common speech. One or other of these two languages rarely failed to serve them on the great high roads through the length and breadth of the land.

The jewellers moved in and out among the native merchants, occasionally showing a small diamond or ruby. It was done in a surreptitious manner as though they were in constant fear of being seen by a possible thief. The native bought only to store his wealth in a convenient and portable form.

While the diamond merchant sold to the calico dealer, his eye was open for the Englishman with whom a better and a larger bargain was to be driven. The European purchased for export; but buyer and seller were aware that the transaction was not legal in the sight of the Company. The knowledge added zest to the deal on the part of the diamond merchant and roused his sporting instincts.

This morning the market was at its busiest. English ladies, followed by servants bearing baskets on their heads, chaffered at the stalls in fanams, the small current coin of the land at that period, while their husbands moved about the parade ground and bargained with the merchants in pagodas.

Among the marketing wives was Mrs. Jearsey. Her bevy of gaudily dressed slaves made her conspicuous. Margery was with her, her pretty face almost hidden under a thick white quilted hood to protect her from the sun. Her eyes were everywhere. She had a smile for the Englishmen and a word for their wives. It was easy to see that she was a favourite with all alike.

At the grain stalls she found Bridger and his wife. He was buying rice to ship to one of the coast ports; Mrs. Bridger was laying in the week’s supply of grain needed for her servants, her fowls and her pigs. Margery stopped, hesitated for a second and glanced quickly at Mrs. Jearsey. That worthy woman was deeply absorbed in making a purchase at one of the stalls.

“How is he this morning?” whispered Margery in Mrs. Bridger’s ear.

“Quite well again, I am glad to say. He was able to go and report himself in person to the council.”

“Oh, was that wise?”

“We decided that it would be better than leaving John to give the report. The only course to pursue is to put a bold face upon it. That boy is not wanting in courage, and he made no objection.”

“Is he to remain with you as your guest?”

“I am afraid it is impossible, glad as we should be to have him with us. He could help John in the office in more ways than one.”

“Did Mr. Bridger propose it?” asked Margery, still keeping a watchful eye on Mrs. Jearsey.

“He didn’t dare even to hint at such a thing. He knew the council would never permit it; and it might have roused their suspicions if he had asked it. We mustn’t forget that he is supposed to be a sailor washed ashore from the Borneo.”

“What will happen to him?” asked Margery in distress “What is he to do? The council will never give him a passage in one of their ships even as a sailor if they have any suspicion who he really is.”

“Hush, my dear! We have ears all round us!” said Mrs. Bridger as she looked at the Dutchwoman still discussing with some heat the price she was to pay for the goods she had already loaded up on her baskets. “Take my advice and forget him,” continued Mrs. Bridger, who had noted the rising colour in the girl’s cheek “I doubt if I was wise to let you run in and out as you did last week when he was with us those evenings. Remember that you are to be Piet’s wife before long.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bridger!” replied Margery meekly “But do tell me what he is going to do with himself.”

“He is joining the garrison.”

“The garrison!” echoed Margery in dismay “I wonder why?”

“I don’t know, Miss Curiosity, unless he found that he had no alternative but to serve. He is without means to leave the country, and he has no money to support himself if he goes into the Blacktown. He must be very careful not to let the council discover who he is. I think he has done right.”

“How will he like soldiering? It is such rough work.”

“I don’t think he will find it to his taste; although he said that he had a fancy to remain in the Fort, and if the Governor offered to enlist him, he should accept the offer; but he has been too delicately nurtured for barrack life, and so I told him.”

“He will make a fine soldier; they will be sure to promote him to be an officer,” said Margery with an odd little spark of jealousy for the stranger’s reputation.

“Aye, that’s true! It will be a difficult task to fit him with armour, I take it. He’s so big. Gracious! I shouldn’t like to stand about in the sun doing sentinel duty all day. It would kill me,” said Mrs. Bridger.

“You would desert!” suggested her companion, who was pleased to see Mrs. Jearsey moving on to the next stall to begin another palaver over her second purchase.

“And then I should have to ride the wooden horse or run the gantilope!” responded Mrs. Bridger.

They laughed at the thought of sedate Mrs. Bridger running the gauntlet, or sitting astride the wooden bar with heavy shot tied to her feet; forms of punishment administered to the soldiers who neglected their duty or tried to escape into the open country. The smile died away on Mrs. Bridger’s face and an anxious expression crept into her eyes as she said in a whisper:

“Margery, you must take great heed to keep our counsel. The Directors would be furious if they knew of the boy’s presence in the Fort. There is a report that they have written to the council to be on the look-out for him. It is said that he wrote an impudent letter that made them very angry. We should be deprived of our licence if it came to their ears that we had taken him in and befriended him.”

“Trust me, Mrs. Bridger! I will be very careful,” she added to herself under her breath: “if only for his dear sake!” Then aloud she went on: “Oh! why doesn’t he try to escape? It is madness to remain here!”

“How can he escape, destitute as he is? He hasn’t a fanam in the ——” She stopped abruptly, aware that her husband was at her elbow.

“Have you seen Mrs. Nicks this morning?” he asked. He had finished his business with the grain merchant and had not much else to do. “Where is she?”

“On the parade somewhere among the merchants.”

“I’ll warrant Kitty is having a deal with some of the cotton cloth dealers. She never loses an opportunity of turning a penny! The President should make her take out a licence like the rest of us.”

He laughed good-humouredly as he strolled away with his wife. He was not one of those who felt any jealousy towards the adventurous lady. She amused him and he rather enjoyed seeing the indignant attitude taken up by some members of tire Company’s service. He went in search of her and found her deep in conversation with one of the Golcondah traders.

“Hoh-ho, Mrs. Nicks, isn’t that forbidden?” he cried, with a pretence of being shocked which did not deceive her “Take care that you don’t burn your fingers as I did!”

She turned quickly at the sound of his voice.

“A woman’s wit will often carry her farther than a man’s strength will carry him. Are you going to venture again?” she answered.

“Not I! I’ve had enough of that sort of thing to last me a lifetime. I am beginning to think that Jearsey is the wisest man among us all. He had his lesson early and now look at him! He plods along as straight and open as the day; and just see how the council lets him alone! Formerly he was always in their black books. Now he is never called before them to answer a string of impudent questions about his private affairs, as some of us are.”

“Meet me again presently,” said Mrs. Nicks to the native who had stood patiently waiting till her interview was ended with the Englishman. She turned to walk with Bridger, whose wife had excused herself and gone home. They were still outside the Fort walls and were leaving the busy market behind them.

“Here comes another man who somehow or other has gained the confidence of the council, Piet Vandenberg.”

Kitty ran her eye critically over the well-built figure as he approached. She did not echo Bridger’s words. Piet stopped, and after the usual greeting asked if Margery was anywhere to be seen. Bridger informed him that she had been with Mrs. Jearsey in the market and was probably going back to the house by this time.

“What have you there, Vandenberg?” he asked, pointing to a book the Dutchman carried under his arm.

“It is my Dutch Bible. I always take it to church with me. As I came straight from church to the market I am still carrying it,” was the reply as Piet parted with them.

“That’s a strange youth,” said Bridger as he and Mrs. Nicks continued their walk. “I’ve noticed that old Dutch book under his arm before to-day. Odd notion to bring your Bible to market. I am told that he is often to be found studying the good book.”

“For all his Bible reading, no man is a better hand at driving a hard bargain than Piet Vandenberg. In his case godliness and great riches go together,” said Kitty sharply.

“You have got the old Bible saying a little twisted, Mrs. Nicks. ‘Godliness is great riches if a man be content with that which he hath.’ Very few of us are content with what we have out here in India.”

Kitty gave one of her gay little laughs and said, as if in excuse for her inaccuracy:

“I am afraid that you will think that I know my market prices better than my Bible. What I would say is this, Piet somehow manages to combine the two. He gets his godliness from the Bible; but Heaven only knows where he gets his riches.” She stopped in her walk and faced her companion “Can you tell me, John Bridger, where Piet finds his pagodas?”

“I can’t do that exactly; but as he has the advantage of Jearsey’s help you may be sure that he has had exceptionally good opportunities of trading on the coast. It is said that he does well over coco-nuts, cardamoms, cinnamon and pepper which he exports from Ceylon and South India to Java and Sumatra. You may be sure that Jearsey looks after him and keeps him on the same line as he himself is following with such success.”

“There is no evidence that he deals in diamonds?” she asked.

“None; there is not a breath of suspicion on that score.”

“I’m puzzled,” she admitted “Coco-nuts and spices won’t pile the pagodas in thousands.”

“Have you tried it yourself?” asked Bridger with an amused smile.

“I have; all along the Coromandel coast from Ballasore to Trincomalee. To be sure I did not go to Sumatra and Java; so I can’t claim any first-hand experience with those places.”

“Was the Coromandel coast a success?”

“I made a nice little sum, but I couldn’t turn over my thousands. No, Piet and his Bible and his money-making puzzle me.”

“I don’t count him a hypocrite in spite of his Bible. He is one of those simple creatures who are content to follow a groove and never get out of it. The spirit of adventure passes them by without touching them as it touches you and me,” said Bridger, who liked to be just to all men.

“I hope for Margery’s sake that he is all you believe him to be. I know nothing to his detriment; but I am prejudiced against foreigners and I don’t like the Dutch,” said Mrs. Nicks with outspoken candour.

Bridger laughed as he detected the reason for Mrs. Nicks’s antipathy towards the Hollanders. They were formidable rivals to the free-trader as well as to the Company, and they were as unscrupulous as they were “slim.”

“Shifty and unreliable in their dealings; that’s been your experience of them, I suppose,” he said.

“Possibly they might say the same of me. I think I’ve been even with them in Ceylon,” she continued with satisfaction. “And now I must say good morning. It’s time I went home to breakfast.”

She held out her hand but he did not take it. His manner changed and the smile gave place to an expression of anxiety.

“Mrs. Nicks, I want a few words with you, if you will be so kind as to give me another five minutes,” he said.

“With pleasure,” she replied. “Let us turn down to the beach. We shall be quite private under Fisher’s point.”

They sought the shade of the north-east bastion and Mrs. Nicks seated herself on a spar lying on the sand.

“The fact is,” began Bridger, sitting down by her side, “we want your help. You were outside the Sea Gate yesterday when the Muckwas brought in two men who had been washed ashore at St. Thoma.”

“Yes; I saw them both. One was dead; the other was alive and you took him to your house.”

“The sailor belonged to the Borneo and I buried him yesterday afternoon.”

“And the other?” said Kitty, her curiosity fully aroused.

“He was George Creede of Bristol, the owner of the Raven.”

“George Creede!” repeated Kitty, but she showed no sign of amazement “So, then, he came out by his own vessel in spite of the Directors’ prohibition. I admire his courage and I wish him well out of the tangle of difficulties with which he is beset.”

“Who told you?” asked’Bridger.

“I had it from Captain Goodwyn this very morning. It was news to me, for I took it for granted that Creede had remained at home. That sly old dog, Goodwyn, never told me that he was on board with him all the time the ship lay at anchor off Cuddalore. I suppose the Captain was afraid that I should let the secret out to the President. But he need not have feared anything of the kind. There are many things nowadays which it is best that Mr. Yale as Governor should not know.”

“After his quarrel with the Directors it was taking a great risk to come out to the East. He had better have let the matter die down. However, here he is, and he has got himself into a fine mess. I shall be in one, too, if I don’t take care, for I have had him to my house several times after dark,” said Bridger.

“How did you manage to smuggle him into the Fort?”

“Through a little opening in the garden wall. He came up the river by boat and climbed in at the opening. There was no great risk as long as he could get back the same way he came and pick up his own dinghy on the beach. But the storm has altered everything. Creede has been nearly drowned and his ship has become a total wreck. I took him to my house yesterday as a stranger, and my wife pulled him round with some of her simples. This morning he reported himself to the council as one of the crew of the Borneo, whose description he answers exactly. By a bit of good luck I happened to know the man he is personating, John Mitchell. I made his acquaintance some time ago when he was put ashore, sick of a fever.”

Bridger might have added that at the same time he assisted the sailor with money to buy himself little comforts which the Company did not provide for its hospital inmates.

“Rather risky, wasn’t it?”

“There didn’t seem to be any alternative. If only we could have kept his presence secret and smuggled him away into the Blacktown, he might with luck have got a passage on a country ship to Trincomalee; but he was seen by Higgenson and Wavell when he was washed ashore, and there was nothing for it but to own up.”

“Is he still with you?” asked Mrs. Nicks.

“No; the President accepted the story and promptly ordered him to join the garrison until he was required to make up the crew of a ship.”

“How he must have hated the thought of going into barracks.”

“Not he; he’s a plucky young man and no mistake! He seemed rather pleased than otherwise. He told me privately that he wished to come into the Fort and go out at will. He will be able to do so now, and will be on guard at one of the gates, taking his turn with the other men.”

Mrs. Nicks pushed back her hood and rested her chin on her hand in deep contemplation. She thought she could guess why Creede wanted to go in and out of the Fort at will. If she was correct he would be playing a dangerous game; he would be trifling with a girl’s feelings without any possible chance of bringing the affair to a satisfactory issue. Even if Margery was not already promised to Piet, it would be nothing short of madness to hope for anything in George Creede’s position. He was penniless until he could reach England. He would have to work his way home before the mast unless he could persuade a friend to lend him money. Ready money was by no means plentiful among the merchants of the Fort. Credit, they had; and goods of considerable value; but cash was scarce. Kitty looked at Bridger. He was going to ask for cash. Her mind flew to diamonds. It was possible that she might be able to make a bargain with Creede; but it would be taking many risks to entrust a man in his position with valuables that might be stolen from him.

“Well, and how can I help George Creede out of the web of trouble which seems to be partly of his own spinning?” she asked as her companion remained silent.

“In this way. The President, it is known, intends to reinforce the garrison at Cuddalore. Persuade him to let Creede be one of the draft. You can do it if anyone can, as you and Yale are old friends.”

“An admirable thought of yours! and after I get him to Cuddalore, what then?”

“Ah! there I must leave your woman’s wits to work as to the best means of getting him out of the country. You could send him as far as Trincomalee in one of your own ships; and there he must find a Dutch, French or Portuguese ship to carry him to Europe.”

“Is he willing to go to Cuddalore?” she asked, thinking of his desire to remain in Fort St. George and the attraction it held for him.

“I believe so. How could he be otherwise when he runs a constant risk of being detected and imprisoned.”

“It would be very much better for him than remaining on here indefinitely,” she replied.

After further discussion of ways and means of escape, Kitty rose from her seat and bade Bridger good morning. It was late and the sun was hot. Most of the English ladies had departed, and their places before the stalls were taken by the Portuguese of the Blacktown and the wives of the soldiers, who were cheapening the prices asked and beating down the native shopkeepers in their own tongue.

“I will do what I can, for I have nothing but admiration for a man who is brave enough to defy the Directors openly,” she said, as he was about to move away in the direction of the Sea Gate, where he would find the native traders who had been bargaining with the Company’s merchants. “I must confess, however, that the situation is not a pleasant one. I wish Master George Creede well out of it.”

She stood for a few seconds watching Bridger as he rounded Fisher’s point and disappeared. Then she turned and moved slowly back by the path she had come. One of the diamond merchants stood near the parade ground. He was looking in every direction except that of the English lady who was approaching. She passed close to him and stopped in her walk. Without moving he listened.

“At Mrs. Pavia’s house in the Luz.” She named the time and walked on without waiting for a reply.

As she passed through the Middle Gate she encountered Piet, who was going the other way to his house in the Blacktown. He looked at her and then glanced beyond and over her shoulder. She turned to see what had attracted him, and noticed that the diamond merchant to whom she had spoken was standing under the shelter of the gate. There was a suspicion of a smile on Piet’s face, the sight of which somehow stirred her wrath. Was he spying upon her?

“If I were President I should have the Golcondah merchants shut up in safety until they had disgorged all their stones,” he said.

“It will be a very long time before Piet Vandenberg, the worthy free merchant, is made President, I’m thinking,” she replied, tossing her head and passing on quickly without giving him a chance of replying.

She reached Jearsey’s house, where she was staying. The cool air and the subdued light of the stone-paved hall was pleasant after the glare on the beach and in the market. As she passed the office, she looked in. Jearsey sat at his desk busy with his account books.

“Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Nicks?” he asked “I am going inland as far as Egmore, perhaps farther.! have taken the contract for supplying firewood to the Company’s House. It is cheap at the villages and I bring it down easily in my river boats.”

“Nothing, thank you, Mr. Jearsey. I suppose you will be gone for the day.”

“Yes; you won’t see me till supper time, if so early.”

She ran upstairs to the sitting-room they called the parlour. She found Margery standing by the window in a reverie, her handkerchief held against her cheek. Piet had walked home with her from the market and on parting with her had kissed her with clumsy warmth. Margery was trying to rub away the sensation he had left.

Piet’s love-making might have appealed to a stolid Dutch girl. It failed miserably with Margery. She had been born in the East, and though her parents were both English her nerves had the sensitiveness that is often found in those whose early childhood is spent under a tropical sun. If Piet put his arm round her waist she shrank from him unconsciously and slipped away as she would have slipped away from a warm wooden cylinder.

Noting the blank disappointment that overcast his face she would repent and come close to his side; but he was sufficiently rebuffed not to attempt anything of the kind again. On one occasion, just after breakfast, he said without a trace of anger in his voice:

“I’m afraid, Margery, that I only give offence when I mean to be loving and affectionate.”

The very word “affectionate” made her shudder inwardly.

“Oh, Piet, it is so difficult to make love in the morning!” she had replied penitently, yet with the petulance of a spoilt child.

He sighed and regarded her with an expression of perplexity. He was totally ignorant of those light touches which make the courtship of some Englishmen a poem; the courtship that considers time and place; that refrains from worship at inopportune moments. The moon, the soft twilight, the whisper of the rustling palm-leaves, the dancing fireflies, the murmur of the sea, suggested nothing to Piet’s placid unromantic mind. No outburst of passion, fired by the mere touch of her garments, ever fell from his lips and took her heart by storm. It was his misfortune rather than his fault that where women were concerned he was desperately stupid and thick-headed. Among his own countrywomen he might have been better understood.

Mrs. Nicks seemed to read Margery like a book.

“Have you seen Piet this morning?” she asked.

“He joined us just as we were leaving the market and walked home with us,” replied the girl, avoiding her eye.

Mrs. Nicks took her by the arm and gave her a little shake.

“My dear, were you ever in love with him?” she asked softly.

Margery caught her breath in a little sob and glanced round to see if Mrs. Jearsey was within hearing.

“I thought I was—until——” she replied in a low voice that trembled.

“—until some one else came and taught you the great lesson. Ah, child, you are not the only one who learns it after the first step is taken in the wrong direction!”

Pier voice was full of sympathy and there was a ring of sadness in the concluding words. Was it possible that her own plodding husband did not fulfil all Kitty’s dreams? And did she wonder now and then, when she was off her guard, what her life would have been if she had married—some other man? A sharp little sigh escaped her lips as she resolutely set aside all thought of herself. She put her arm round Margery in a close motherly embrace which comforted while it invited confidence.

“I want to know how you became acquainted with—some one else?” she asked.

Margery started and was on her guard in a moment.

“How do you know that there is some one else?” she demanded with scared eyes.

“We saw him being brought into the Fort yesterday; Captain Goodwyn and Mr. Bridger told me his story this morning. They asked me to help him if I could.”

“And you will! will you not?” cried Margery, abandoning all pretence at not understanding what Kitty meant.

“Yes, if I can; but it is not an easy matter. Where did you meet him?”

“At Mr. Bridger’s house. There is an opening in the garden wall at the back of the house, and he came to see Mr. Bridger on business unexpectedly when I happened to be there. After that I met him several times in the same way.”

Kitty puckered her brows as she considered matters. They had gone much farther than she had imagined. If Creede was as bold in his love-making as he was in his trading, it might lead to no end of mischief and misery for Margery. She looked at the girl with her keen searching glance; she was a dainty Englishwoman with the kind of prettiness that a man of Creede’s temperament found irresistible; a girl he would risk his all to obtain.

“And now you mean to meet him again as a halberdier doing sentinel at one of the gates! You are mad, Margery, and so is he!” cried Kitty.

“I haven’t made any appointment with him,” protested Margery.

“Of course not! You have only to walk round the Fort to find him. A few kind words thrown to a soldier on duty may escape notice; but Dutchmen as a rule are sly and suspicious. Have a care what you are about.”

“Piet has never shown himself to be jealous.”

“He has never had cause to feel jealous hitherto. Jealousy is latent in all men like the kick in the horse. It only wants rousing to show itself. Don’t rouse Piet’s jealousy if you can help it. He looks as if he could play the horse and kick viciously, if I am not mistaken.”

Chapter X

A mile inland front the sea, between St. Thoma and the Fort, there is a fertile spot called the Luz. Vegetation grows with tropical luxuriance and forms a marked contrast to the sandy stretch of barren soil on which the Fort stands.

The name was given to it by the Portuguese who discovered it and built their garden houses among the groves. Here they brought their families in the hot months when the sea breezes failed and the long-shore winds enveloped the town of St. Thoma in clouds of burning sand.

With the decline of St. Thoma and departure of the best Portuguese families, the palaces of pleasures in the Luz were deserted by their builders. They fell into the hands of rich natives and country-born people of mixed blood who still continued to trade on the coast.

One of the finest of these houses was occupied by a Cochin Jew, named Ezekiel Pavia. He was a dark spare man of thoroughly Asiatic type. His Semitic features proclaimed his nationality.

He began life as a money-lender in Cochin on the west coast of India; but finding envious eyes cast upon his increasing money-bags by the ruler of the country, he quietly departed with his family, saying that he was going on a long trading tour. He arrived at St. Thoma, and seeing that the Portuguese were retiring, he stepped into one of the deserted positions. He established his office in a large house near the beach. His family he settled in the Luz.

His wife was of the same nationality as himself, a lady of olive complexion, regular features and full figure. She had large brown eyes with golden tints in their depths, and they were heavily fringed with dark lashes. They had a habit of moving lazily till they fixed themselves in a dreamy gaze that gave an impression of placid repose. Without any effort on her part she created round herself an atmosphere of voluptuous ease. Her love of ease, the result of her Oriental birth, rendered her extremely good-natured alike to her slaves and her family.

The house was surrounded with deep pillared verandas which darkened it throughout and kept it deliciously cool. The lofty rooms were paved with marble and the chunam pillars were polished to match the floors.

In one of the largest of these rooms lived Mrs. Pavia, surrounded by a colony of Pavias and a numerous band of slaves. She spent an unruffled existence in the palm-shaded room, smoking the hookah, gossiping, eating sweets and interviewing Indian hawkers who spread their goods on mats at her feet.

She robed herself in the richest satins from Surat, and reclined upon pillows covered with the finest silks from China. Her arms and neck were loaded with jewels of priceless value; and on her fingers were rings fit for a rajah.

A slave beat the cushions and rearranged them on the low cane lounges of her sitting-room. Bowls of sweet Persian roses freshly gathered stood upon small tables of Arabian design. In a large shallow basket lay wreaths of creamy jasmine blossom in readiness for expected visitors. The marble floor was strewn with cashmere rugs, soft and thick underfoot; curtains of Persian embroidery swayed gently in the afternoon breeze; and filmy muslins of the finest texture screened the open windows from the gaze of gardeners working outside among the ferns and flowers.

In the garden the fierce sunlight was tempered by the rich foliage through which it filtered to the grass below. The blue ipomoea, the morning glory of Indian gardens, hung its trails of azure over the trellis-work of the verandas. Scarlet trumpet flowers reared their clusters towards the ipomoea; and pink oleanders lifted trusses of almond-scented blossoms against the dark green of the palms. Birds and butterflies rivalling the flowers in tints, hovered and fluttered in the sleepy repose of Mrs. Pavia’s garden.

The mistress of this luxurious home sat in a deep lounge cushioned with silk of the palest green. She was clothed in crimson satin, the tint of rich red wine, which was softened by a black gauze veil which fell from her dark scented hair and partially enveloped her.

The sound of bearers chanting as they ran attracted her attention. She raised herself from her pillows and glided to the door with the graceful motion common to women of the East. A few seconds later Kitty Nicks was clasped in her arms with an effusive welcome.

“Dear friend! How delightful it is to see you again!” said Mrs. Pavia in Portuguese.

“It is a pleasure!” responded Kitty warmly in the same language. “I have brought Miss Armadale with me for company. She is dull in the Fort and pines to get among the trees and flowers.”

“Welcome to my house, Miss Armadale!” said the Jewess in fairly good English.

She relapsed into the more familiar Portuguese as she led the way into the room where she had been sitting. Her pleasure at seeing them was genuine, and in her indolent way she did all that she could to honour her guests and make them welcome. She hung jasmine wreaths round their necks and sprinkled them with rose-water. Then she chose what she considered the best chairs in the room—an important point of etiquette in the East with guests that were to be honoured—and seated them. Slaves entered with dishes of sweets and fruit and bottles of Armenian wine, sweet syrupy stuff with little alcohol in it. Afternoon tea was unknown in those days; wine and cakes took its place.

“Are the men here?” asked Mrs. Nicks when the slaves had taken away the plates and glasses.

“They are lodging in my godowns. I have given them houseroom just as you gave them passages. They ought to show us their gratitude in substantial fashion. Eh! No!”

“Most certainly they ought. Let them come in at once. It will require some time to strike a bargain. Margery and I must be back before Mr. Jearsey returns.”

“He doesn’t know, then, that you have come, eh?” said Mrs. Pavia as she touched a gong “Did you tell Mrs. Jearsey?”

“No; I allowed her to think that we were going into the Blacktown where I have been buying areca nut.”

In reply to Mrs. Pavia’s summons there entered from the garden three men, one of whom Mrs. Nicks had spoken with in the morning on the parade near the market. Two of them seated themselves at the feet of the ladies. The third stood watchful and alert by the open French window through which they had entered.

“You are sure that we shall not be interrupted by any chance visitors,” said Mrs. Nicks.

“I have given orders to the servants to say that I am engaged. I never have visitors except by appointment,” replied Mrs. Pavia.

“Where is your husband?”

“He has business at St. Thoma and is out; but he does not matter; he tells no tales.”

Mrs. Nicks turned to the men.

“Show us what you have; I am in a hurry to get back to the Fort,” she said.

The intimation that she was in a hurry was more of a fashion of speaking than a statement of fact. The men delayed no longer. A piece of crimson velvet was produced and spread upon the mat. From mysterious recesses in their dress they brought out various packets. Mrs. Nicks knew the look of them and her eyes shone.

It is probable that when King Solomon purchased precious stones of the eastern merchants, the gems were brought to him in similar wrappings. The outer covering was made in the form of a canvas bag which was called a bulse by the Englishmen. Some of the bulses were sewn up and sealed; others were tied at the mouth with cotton tape. Inside the bulse was a second bag made of thin calico or muslin containing the stones. One was opened and the contents spread upon the red velvet. Margery examined the diamonds with curiosity. She had never seen them in the rough. Her companions were silent.

“Are those real diamonds?” she asked “They look like sandstones or white cornelians.”

“They are diamonds, sure enough, just as they find them in the pits,” replied Mrs. Nicks as she took up a white crystal resembling a bit of rock alum and examined it critically.

She let it drop back carelessly on to the velvet, and picked up another having the appearance of a piece of glass chipped off a salt-cellar, except that it possessed regular facets. This too she dropped indifferently.

“I thought they would shine more,” said Margery; she was disappointed in them.

“They will shine bright enough after they are cut. I like diamonds best in the rough; they mean business and money. When they are cut they are no better than toys; their very glitter is a curse to them, for it attracts the thief. In this rough state they are easily hidden and carried. There’s a lot of money to be made out of them if one buys with judgment. I don’t wonder that the Company makes a monopoly of the importation of them to Europe.”

“To England,” corrected Mrs. Pavia. “The Company cannot command the trade of Holland and France.”

She spoke English, which the men did not understand.

They waited patiently while the stones were examined and discussed. Margery fingered the gems although she had no intention of purchasing. Their silky touch was pleasant as she let them slip through her fingers as a child plays with smooth pebbles on the beach.

“Will the lady buy?” asked one of the men in an insinuating voice.

Mrs. Nicks turned on him quickly with a flash of her eyes. Mrs. Pavia laughed with a soft modulated sound that accorded well with her surroundings.

“What! that trash! Not I! Those trumpery little stones are no good to me. Offer them to the stallholders in the market. They are only fit to truck with small traders,” was the reply.

The men were not in the least angry at the depreciation of their wares. On the contrary, their eyes brightened. It was apparent that she intended to do business and was not trifling with them. It was to their advantage to get rid of some of their property now that they had been driven from their home, although they did not advertise the fact.

They opened two or three bulses that were sealed. The stones were finer than those already exhibited, but they did not please Mrs. Nicks. She handled them with the same indifference she had shown before, and held them out for Mrs. Pavia to see.

“They are good; but not what I want,” she said as she threw them back on the velvet. One of them rolled off and was retrieved by the merchant “Come now!” she continued, addressing the three men generally “It wasn’t worth while bringing you men here for this. I could have found just as good stones in the Blacktown. If I take the risk of sending diamonds to Europe”—she was careful not to say England—“they must be worth it, which these are not. What have you here?”

She laid her hand upon a bulse not yet opened. There were three large seals upon it which bore the impress of Hindustani ciphers; they were all different.

“Ah I this feels as if it contained something worth looking at. Open it.”

“Lady, we cannot. It belongs to a merchant who is still at Golcondah. We must wait for his presence before breaking the seals. Moreover, Mr. Chardin has already promised that the President will himself buy these. It is well known that he is commissioned to make a crown for the King of Siam.”

Kitty’s eyes sparkled and her lips curved into a smile. So much for the secrets of the Company being kept! It was her inward resolve that these stones should never shine on the head of the King of Siam. They were just the kind she was seeking. She pretended to be angry at their refusal to open the bulse.

“So, then, this is all I get by giving you a passage on my ship! you and your wives and children! If my Captain had not brought you to Cuddalore where would you and your diamonds and your families have been by this time with the Moghul’s troops in your city?”

“Nay, lady! we are not ungrateful as you shall see; but these stones are promised.”

She did not believe them. If they had been intended for the Company the bulse would not have been displayed. It was only a trick to enhance the price and make the sale of them appear to be a favour.

“Promised or not, I will at least have a sight of them!” she cried.

Before the men were aware of what she was about, she drew up the scissors that hung by her side from her chatelaine and ripped open the cotton covering. The men uttered a protest, but they were too late. She turned the contents out on to her lap where they were under her hands.

They were magnificent stones, but like the rest, still in the rough. There were six of them, each worth a large sum of money. Mrs. Nicks had to exercise all the self-control she could summon to her assistance to preserve the calm indifference so essential to deal in the East.

“Ah, now we have something worth looking at! These are the kind of diamonds I want if we can come to terms. They are fine, though I have seen finer,” she added without a spark of enthusiasm or admiration in her tone.

She examined them critically stone by stone and named a price far below their value. The men made a show of pretended dismay and astonishment, and held out a hand to receive them back. Kitty kept them secure in her lap with her fingers over them, another sign to the dealers that she intended to have the diamonds, and was prepared to give a reasonable price, to be arrived at after much haggling and bargaining.

The two men re-settled themselves comfortably on the cashmere rug, and after an interval of silence, when Margery imagined that matters were at a dead-lock, they named their price. The sum was at least a third more than the stones were worth. Mrs. Nicks indignantly rejected it. Then began a seesaw of bargaining, the prospective buyer advancing step by step her offers; the jewellers reducing their demands with the same patient deliberation. The difference between the two sums lessened and Margery began to hope that the buyer and seller might come to terms after all.

“But, lady, what is the use of all these words when the stones are already promised through Mr. Chardin to the Company?” asked the man at the window, who had up to the present taken no part in the business. While he spoke his watchful eyes never left the garden for more than a few seconds.

Mrs. Nicks turned with an assumption of scorn to Mrs. Pavia.

“These men take me for the Queen of fools when they tell me such a tale!” she said “Perhaps I was a Queen of simpletons when I saved them from the marauding troops of the Moghul.”

“It seems so without doubt,” responded Mrs. Pavia, ready to give her friend all the assistance she could.

“I saved you, but I shall not do it again!” cried Mrs. Nicks, addressing the men “They say that the Moghul after the conquest of Golcondah will come south. Where will you be then? Not in an English Fort or Factory; for it is against the rules of the Company to harbour native refugees. Not on board any of my ships lying safely at anchor off Cuddalore where the Moghul cannot reach them—unless you can be reasonable. This is the very last advance I will make.”

She named her final offer. Her warning had its effect. The expression on their faces as they exchanged a single glance—it was scarcely more than the flicker of an eyelid—told her that the stones were practically hers. Still they did not close with the offer as soon as it was made. They glided off to another point.

“If the lady buys the diamonds, there is no need for her to pay the money at once,” said the man who stood sentinel at the window.

“I am ready to pay at once,” replied Kitty, looking up at him.

“In these times of trouble the money will be safer in the lady’s hands. She will kindly consider it in the light of a loan for which we will charge but a small interest.”

Kitty laughed and Mrs. Pavia joined in her merriment. Even while she did them a service she was to pay for it. She was not averse to being their bankers. Money did not lie idle in her hands and she could afford to give them a moderate interest and still be the gainer.

The man at the window gave a low warning ejaculation such as an animal might have uttered at the approach of an enemy. In an incredibly short space of time all trace of the diamonds had disappeared. The broken bulses, the seals and the stones were gone. Those in Kitty’s possession were slipped back into the inner muslin bag and thrust inside her bodice. The only thing that remained was the piece of velvet lying on the mat.

As he gave the warning the man at the window turned towards the interior of the room and interposed his person in the opening so as to obstruct the entrance from the garden. His eyes were upon the velvet and he made a slight motion with his hand. One of the men seated before Mrs. Nicks picked up the square of velvet and hastily folded it before putting it into an inner pocket. He was not quick enough. A face looked over the shoulder of the sentinel at the window and with quick observation took in the scene with all its details. It was that of Piet Vandenberg.

Mrs. Pavia glanced angrily at the intruder, her pleasant smile gone and her brown eyes sparkling with wrath. Her husband’s voice fell on her ear as he ordered the gem merchant to stand aside and allow him to pass. Even now the man was unconsciously obstructive. He put his fingers to his forehead and bowed low in such a manner as to bar the way. Pavia, annoyed at his behaviour, put his hand on his shoulder and thrust him aside. The other two merchants joined the offender and together they slipped away and vanished.

Pavia entered followed by Vandenberg. Mrs. Nicks was dumb with mingled wrath and surprise; it was best to be silent. Margery glanced at Piet with dismay written on her face. He was the last person she desired to see at that particular moment; and the same might be said for Kitty. It was Mrs. Pavia who spoke.

“I did not invite you to my house, Mr. Vandenberg; nor did you ask my permission according to our custom to pay me a visit,” she said angrily.

“No, madam; but I have done myself the honour of calling on you as I was passing. Besides, I wanted to see your husband on a little matter of business,” replied Piet with unruffled smoothness.

While he spoke in his deliberate foreign intonation his eyes were everywhere. He noted the servants in their rich clothing; there were some pretty girls of fairer complexion than the ordinary dark brown Tamils among Mrs. Pavia’s bevy of slaves upon whom his eye lingered. Their mistress noticed the look and ordered them from the room.

“There is my husband’s office for business at St. Thoma. This is my private room, open only to those whom I invite,” said Mrs. Pavia. She bent a wrathful eye upon her husband who shrugged his shoulders as though he repudiated responsibility for the situation.

“Mr. Vandenberg begged that he might pay his respects to you. I told him that he must make an appointment, but he would take no denial. He insisted on accompanying me, vowing that you were too good-hearted to be annoyed. Come, Vandenberg; let us go to my sitting-room,” said Pavia as he turned to walk away.

“I beg a thousand pardons,” said Piet with contrition that he did not feel. “I am afraid I interrupted a deal in diamonds, Mrs. Pavia.”

Her husband looked round. Why couldn’t the fellow come away, seeing that he was not welcome? He answered for his wife, explaining that she already had more diamonds than she knew what to do with, and was not thinking of purchasing more. Mrs. Nicks could have annihilated Pavia on the spot. Stupid fellow! why could he not leave the unwelcome visitor under the impression that the dealers were there to see Mrs. Pavia? It drove her into a corner and forced an explanation that she was very unwilling to give.

“If you must know my business with these men, Piet Vandenberg, understand that I have just concluded a loan,” she said.

“Oh, indeed!”he replied, his eyes upon her as though he would read her innermost thoughts.

The suspicion of a smile on his lips irritated Kitty still more and infuriated Mrs. Pavia. Piet had caught sight of the square of red velvet and he knew perfectly well what it meant. It was not necessary for the purpose of effecting a loan. He might have mentioned the fact, but Mrs. Pavia interposed.

“What are you doing in St. Thoma, Vandenberg?” she asked aggressively.

“I had to see Rama Lingum,” he replied.

The large eyes continued to stare at him with the same hostile expression they had worn at his entry, and he was beginning to feel the discomfort of being an unwelcome guest; yet he could not go until his curiosity was satisfied. It would give him a hold over Mrs. Nicks if he could ascertain for certain if she had bought diamonds. He repeated his excuses and apologies, pleading as a reason for his visit to her husband that he was anxious to borrow money.

“You don’t want money!” cried Margery, speaking for the first time.

He smiled sweetly at her, unruffled by her remark.

“Ladies know nothing of business, do they, Mr. Pavia?—except perhaps Mrs. Nicks.”

“You, too, have lost property in the storm since you are obliged to come to Mr. Pavia,” said Kitty, as if she was denouncing him and exposing his wickedness.

“Yes,” he replied placidly “I was no luckier than my neighbours.”

“What was the value of your losses?” she demanded.

“A matter of a thousand pagodas more or less,” he replied with a sigh.

“Rather a large sum; you take it very quietly. What goods were you shipping?”

“My venture was in coco-nuts, spices and ginger. Only the day before the storm did I put my goods on board——”

“—the Raven?” asked Kitty quickly.

“Of course; what other ship could they have been on?” he asked in return.

“I should like to know how a consignment of coco-nuts and spices cost you such a large sum as a thousand pagodas?” asked Mrs. Pavia in a loud voice that implied disbelief in his story.

“Were you shipping coco-nuts and spices too, Mrs. Nicks?” he inquired, ignoring Mrs. Pavia’s question.

“Never mind what I was shipping. You may be satisfied that I was not dealing in your line. Come along, Margery; we shall be late,” said Kitty, rising and preparing to make a move.

“Did Rama Lingum supply you with the nuts and spices?” asked Mrs. Pavia, in the same aggressive voice.

Piet’s face flushed slightly as he replied with the first sign of irritation he had shown.

“Certainly not! I have no dealings with Rama Lingum.”

“Then why are you visiting him to-day?” demanded the Jewess.

“Come to my room, Vandenberg, and let’s get this business finished,” said Pavia nervously. He knew his wife and dreaded an outbreak of passion in which she was capable of calling her men to rough handle the objectionable Dutchman.

Piet himself was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. He had kept his temper admirably and had his bit of fun. He had no desire to let matters go too far, and was quite ready this time to obey Pavia’s invitation to retire. The two men left the room and an exclamation of disrespectful contempt fell from Mrs. Pavia’s lips, making Piet’s ears tingle and his blood boil as he detected a smile on Margery’s lips. His passage of arms with the two angry ladies had amused her.

Chapter XI

The gates of Fort St. George closed at nine o’clock.

Anyone wishing to pass in or out after that hour presented himself at the Middle Gate and had to satisfy the guard as to his name and business.

At ten o’clock the officer on duty for the day went round to inspect the different gates and see that they were shut and barred. A patrol marched through the Blacktown to note if the punch and ’rack (arrack) houses were closed at the prescribed hour; and to stop all fighting and brawling in the streets. The patrol returned by the Company’s new Garden House on the river.

Mrs. Nicks and Margery were carried home by their bearers at a sharp trot. Daylight faded rapidly and it was almost dark when they turned into the Fort Gate on the west. There was still some time before it would be closed. It was a thoroughfare not much frequented, being used only by travellers going to some inland village.

Kitty’s palanquin was leading. It passed under the dark gateway and disappeared round the corner. Margery’s was about thirty paces behind. As hers came under the arch one of the bearers stumbled and fell. Margery was jolted forward and uttered a little cry. The soldier on guard walked quickly to the sloping palanquin and assisted her out. The bearer scrambled to his feet in a great fright and looked apprehensively at the sentinel, as if afraid of a beating.

“Thank you!” said Margery breathlessly, as she was extricated from her uncomfortable position “Is the man ill or hurt in any way?”

“Not in the least. The stupid fellow must have been asleep like a horse!” he said with an angry glance at the trembling bearer. It was considered a grave fault to let a palanquin drop. The journey had not been long and the men had had a good rest at Mrs. Pavia’s hospitable house, where they had not been forgotten.

Margery started at the sound of the sentinel’s voice and looked up at him in the dim light. A name escaped her lips; but it was spoken so low that it barely reached his ears. Recovering her self-possession, she said aloud, as if addressing a strange soldier:

“I will not get into the palanquin again. It is so short a distance to Mr. Jearsey’s house that I will walk. Go home,” she said in Tamil to the bearers, who waited for orders.

They started off at once in obedience to her word, thinking only of the evening meal of fish curry that was ready for them.

“Are you surprised to see me here, Miss Armadale?” asked Creede. He added with a smile: “My duties have already begun.”

“I must run home,” she said, trembling with fear lest she should be discovered talking with a strange soldier; at the same time her heart beat with a new emotion that was uncommonly like wild delight. Her agitation was not lost to him, and the knowledge of it set his own pulses throbbing. He caught her by the hand.

“One moment, Margery; I have something to say.”

“Not now I not now! I daren’t stay!” she cried, terrified lest Piet should be following close upon their heels. He was to have supper with the Jearseys.

“When may I see you?”

Under the darkness of the gate and hidden from view by its massive frame-work he drew her to him quickly and put his lips to hers. She ceased to protest or to struggle. A thrill went through him as he felt his long kiss returned. She broke away with a little cry under her breath.

“I must go! I must go!” she whispered.

“To-night, beloved, at the garden door by the river after the gates are closed. Come down to Jearsey’s sally-port for five minutes; just five minutes!”

A sound fell on their ears. It was the chant of bearers bringing a palanquin towards the Fort. She started and would have run; but he held her fast.

“Margery, sweetheart, grant me my prayer! At the sally-port at half-past nine.”

For answer she turned to him and lifted her face to his.

“No need to run, beloved! I will hold the pig here if it is Vandenberg until you are safely in your room.”

Margery sped away and was soon out of sight. Creede took up a position in the very centre of the narrow roadway. The bearers could but stop when they came up with him.

“Who goes there?” he cried gruffly.

Piet’s voice answered from the pillows of his luxurious palanquin. He gave the pass-word without showing his face. The sentinel went close to the palanquin and laid a hand on the curtain.

“How dare you touch my palanquin?” cried Vandenberg angrily. He was well known to the rest of the garrison and his voice was sufficient to identify him “Don’t you know me, fellow?”

“No, sir; I have never seen you before. I am new to my job. The sergeant gave me orders to identify all who passed in and out of the Fort and give him a list of their names. I shall be obliged to you for yours.”

Creede spoke roughly and with a strong west-country accent put on for Vandenberg’s edification. The Dutchman peered at him in the gathering darkness and mentioned his name.

“Now you know me don’t let me be troubled in this way again.”

“Your address, sir?”

“The devil take you!” growled Piet “Let me get on!” He shouted at his bearers to proceed, but the sentinel still stood in the way.

“I must have your address, sir, or I shall get into trouble with the sergeant,” persisted Creede, speaking with great deliberation.

“A plague upon you! The Blacktown. Mark me! If I am detained again like this I shall report you to the Commandant, and ask him to let you ride the wooden horse for a couple of hours. That will teach you manners.”

Creede did not reply. With the same slowness he had shown in all his movements he took his big body, bigger than ever in the armour he was wearing, and his halberd out of the path of the bearers. The men were just moving forward when Piet called to them to stop. He put his head through the curtain of the palanquin and said:

“What’s your name, fellow?”

“John Mitchell, at your service, halberdier in the Honourable Company’s service on the Coromandel coast.”

It was too dark to see John Mitchell’s face by this time, which perhaps was as well, for the lips that had so lately been pressed to Margery’s wore a smile that might have maddened the Dutchman still more.

Supper was late, Mr. Jearsey being behind time as he had prophesied. Piet came into the dining-room smiling and good-humoured, just before his uncle appeared, with no trace of ill-temper on his face. He had quite recovered from his encounter with the new sentinel. Mrs. Nicks glanced at him apprehensively, as they seated themselves at the loaded table.

Kitty need not have feared any indiscreet remarks on the subject of their meeting at the Jew’s house. Piet had as much reason for keeping it secret as she had. Jearsey would have strongly disapproved of his nephew borrowing money and of his going to Pavia for it.

The speculation in diamonds by Mrs. Nicks while she was his guest would not have troubled him nearly so much as the borrowing. He would have disliked her transaction; but it was well known to every one in the Fort that she was—to use the council’s own words—“a separate merchant from her husband;” therefore he would not be held accountable for any irregularity that she might be guilty of.

The conversation turned on the new house that Vandenberg was building for himself in the Fort. It was a safe subject, and Mrs. Nicks at once took it up and showed an interest in it that was flattering to the owner. The house was still unfinished and he occupied the dwelling in the Blacktown in which he had originally settled.

Piet had no objection to living in the native quarter. He preferred it not being an Englishman. It gave him more freedom, and he was not cramped for warehouse room as were the men in the Fort.

It was Margery who brought about a change in Piet’s life. She had a great aversion to the Blacktown and refused to make her home there. He found himself with no alternative but to build for his bride within the walls. The spot chosen was near the new St. Thoma Gate, which gate was under construction. It had not been an easy matter to obtain leave for the Dutchman, a free-merchant and not employed by the Company, to take up his residence within the walls. Through Jearsey’s influence permission was given if he would be content with a plot of waste ground close to the new gate.

“I passed your house to-day, Piet, and was surprised to see it shut up,” said his aunt “Where are all the workmen?”

“I am waiting for some wood from Ballasore,” he replied.

“But there is plenty to be done meanwhile; the walls to be polished, for instance. They take a long time.”

Piet remained silent. Mrs. Nicks glanced at him with amusement. He was hiding something from his aunt. In a spirit of mischief she determined to force a confession.

“There is something the matter,” she said, with a knowing nod of the head to imply that she spoke from knowledge and not from guessing. “Your workpeople have been frightened away by a devil.”

He stared at her in mild surprise.

“You are a witch, Mrs. Nicks, with your guessing. You are quite right. The men have left because they say that there is a devil in the house. The fact is they wanted me to give them ten pagodas when I laid the foundations to make a sacrifice. I refused; and now they believe that the devil has come because no sacrifice was made, and that the house can never be finished.”

“Or if finished, in spite of your refusal, that you yourself will be the sacrifice,” said Kitty in all seriousness “Oh! I know them, for I have done some building myself. The Hindu masons have some very queer notions, and I have no doubt but that they are plagued with evil spirits and have a great fear of them.”

Her experience was wider than Vandenberg’s. In her journeys up-country and inland she had seen and heard many strange things among the weavers which she could only attribute to a supernatural agency. Piet’s lip curled with contempt.

“They are very heathenish in their beliefs, which is not to be wondered at, considering that they are but heathen. The Lord’s hand is against them, and I will have nothing to do with their devilish ways.”

“How has the evil spirit manifested itself, Piet?” asked Margery.

“I have not seen it nor heard it, and I don’t believe it exists,” he replied “I am there every day, whether the workpeople are busy or not.”

“It must be a ghost,” remarked his aunt.

“Ghost or no ghost, the men must finish the house when the wood arrives,” said Piet, as though he would dismiss the subject.

“When will it be ready for you?” asked Mrs. Nicks.

“At Christmas. He turned his eyes on Margery with a look that made her shudder inwardly “We will be married in January; eh, Margery?”

The girl made no reply. The colour in her cheek deepened as Kitty’s eyes rested upon her. They rose from the table. It was later than usual and nearly time for bed. Jearsey was very sleepy, and his wife never seemed more than half-awake at any time. She settled herself in her chair to watch the servants as they cleared the table. As soon as this was done and they were dismissed to their own supper she went into the veranda where the rest of the family had adjourned.

“Jearsey, it is time you went to bed! You are asleep,” she said, laying a heavy hand upon his shoulder as he rested in a long arm-chair “And, Piet, you had better be going before the gates are shut.”

He rose rather unwillingly; but he knew his aunt’s liking for early hours. It was nearly nine o’clock. At nine she retired herself and was uneasy if her example was not followed. As the household rose before six in the morning it was not an unreasonable hour to go to bed. There was no such thing as brilliant lighting in those days. The only means of illumination was vegetable oil in which burned a cotton wick. Reading or working was impossible, and the time spent after sunset was perforce passed in idleness.

Margery, according to custom, accompanied Piet to the front door. He was not a demonstrative lover at any time, but to-night he lingered, holding her fingers in one hand and patting them with the other, a trick that nearly drove her to open rebellion. It was all she could do not to snatch her hand away from his fat clutch.

“The Lord is very good to us,” he said in a purring tone “He has delivered the heathen into our hands and allowed us to spoil the Egyptians.”

“What Egyptians?” asked Margery, regarding his complacent face with wonder.

“‘Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.’”

“‘Thou shalt break them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.’ Thus are we told to serve the people of this land,” he said, smiling at her wonder.

“Piet!” she cried irritably; “ I have told you more than once not to quote Scripture to me. I can never guess what you are alluding to.”

“I was alluding to Mrs. Nicks,” he said gently and without any trace of malice “She was spoiling the heathen of their diamonds in the Luz this afternoon. She is quite right to do so if she has the courage to take the risk. And after all why shouldn’t she? Did she make a big purchase?”

“I—I really can’t say. I’m so stupid in business matters,” said Margery, embarrassed by his direct question.

“You were not tempted to buy, were you?”

“I! I have no money to speculate with! I have only what I need for my dress,” she replied impatiently “Mr. Jearsey has my money and he pays me the interest. But you know all this, Piet. What are you thinking of in connexion with my little fortune?”

“Only that I might invest your little fortune, as you call it, to greater advantage if I had it; then there might be something over to buy yourself a few diamonds—to wear, not to sell.”

“What would you invest it in?”

“Coco-nuts, pepper and spice for Java and Sumatra. There is a fine opening for making a fortune if only I had the capital.”

“Coco-nuts, pepper and spice!” repeated Margery in disgust “How your mind runs on trading! Good night, Piet. You will be shut in the Fort if you don’t hurry.” Mrs. Jearsey’s voice on the landing above was heard calling the head servant to close the hall door, and Piet went off in a hurry. He was in some awe of his aunt as well as of her husband; they stood to him in the place of parents. One of the reasons for preferring to live in the Blacktown was that it was not within easy reach of Mrs. Jearsey. He did not want her to be prying about in his storerooms or making inquiries as to his manner of housekeeping. If he practised any economies they were not in respect to food. She might not have approved of the items that appeared in his housekeeping bills. When he came into the Fort to reside he looked forward to making his wife the watchdog, who should keep his aunt at her distance without creating unpleasantness. He intended to maintain the house in the Blacktown after he married. There would not be room to build warehouses on the plot of ground assigned to him near the St. Thoma Gate. The lower story would only be sufficient to hold the storerooms needed for the grain and curry-stuffs to feed their staff of servants.

The house in the Blacktown was an airy building facing the sea, and near enough to the beach to be convenient for the loading and unloading of goods brought by sea, Margery might have been well content with it as a home during the first years of her married life if it had not been for its proximity to the native quarters.

The people of the Blacktown had from time immemorial been in the habit of throwing all their refuse into the roads. Nearly every native kept pigs, goats and buffaloes. These animals lived in the streets and in the verandas and backyards of the houses which they shared in common with the pariah dogs and children. Infectious diseases were always present in some form or other, and quarrels in the streets were frequent.

President Gyfford tried by the imposition of a small house tax and a staff of scavengers to effect a reformation; but his action nearly occasioned a serious rising among the people, so wedded were they to their habits.

Yale’s efforts in that direction were more successful; but the town was still in a very insanitary condition, with its open drains and want of plenty of water. Margery was quite right in her refusal to live there.

Piet picked his road as best he could in the dark. He was indifferent to mud, he had plenty of servants to clean his boots for him; what he feared was a fall over the stacks of building material lying between the Fort and the Blacktown. The Armenians had been encouraged, at Sir John Chardin’s suggestion, to settle in Madras; and they were erecting houses for themselves on some waste ground beyond the bazaar and market place.

The Dutchman got clear of the Armenian quarter without damage to his shins. He crossed the north river,* and took one of the narrow streets leading to the sea. A servant was waiting for him at the door of his house. He inquired for his butler, a big African who acted in other capacities as well, and was told that he had not returned.

Vandenberg asked no questions. He was an easy master as long as his own wants were supplied, and he was not troubled personally. The negro who went by the name of Domingo had studied his master thoroughly. He managed the house to Vandenberg’s satisfaction. If a servant was disobedient or lazy the man was handed over to Domingo to be dealt with, and he either mended his ways or was passed on to another establishment and seen no more. Under Domingo’s severe rule changes were frequent.

Piet went upstairs to his sitting-room, a pleasant chamber filled with fresh air and the sound of the sea. His man followed and assisted his master to undress. When all was finished the servant was dismissed.

When he was left to himself Vandenberg unlocked a heavy chest that was built into the wall and took out his old Dutch Bible. Drawing the oil lamp towards the book, he read to himself in an undertone from the Psalms.

He placed the Bible under his pillow and lay down upon his bed. In a few minutes he was sleeping heavily.

Chapter XII

Very different was it with Piet’s fiancée. Sleep was far from her eyelids. Her room looked towards the river that ran like a moat outside the garden walls on the west. Beyond the river she saw the dim outline of the flat marshland, known later as the Island, and the long line of palms where the villages of Egmore, Nungumbaukum and Kilpauk nestled with their patches of sugar-cane and rice.

To-night Margery stood at her window, not thinking of the tropical luxuriance of the country inland, the shady tamarinds and the big spreading banyan trees. Her ears were upon the familiar noises of the house. She heard Mrs. Nicks close her door and lock it. Jearsey’s heavy tread marked his way to his room. His wife followed a little later when she had seen that the lights were extinguished and the outer doors bolted.

The retirement of the master and mistress was the signal for the slaves of the establishment to hurry to the big kitchen, where the cook with the assistance of the kitchen woman and the scullery boy had prepared the savoury curry and rice. The great Moghul himself might have come down the street for all they cared, now that the hall door was locked and the mistress had gone to bed.

The gong at the main-guard had struck nine some time ago. Margery put out the coco-nut oil lamp that burned upon her table. There was no moon; but the brilliant starlight of the tropics relieved the darkness of the night. On the horizon lay heavy masses of cloud over which the lightning played in streams of white light. It was too far off for the thunder to be heard.

The frogs in the river grasses and pools left by the storm kept up their incessant cry for “more rain.” A shy night bird screamed plaintively high up in the sky as it flew towards the open backwaters of Ennore. Far away to the south in the direction of St. Thoma the jackals howled, marking their tracks by their voices as they sneaked along the shore to pick up refuse which had escaped the crow and the crab. The yellow dogs prowling in the Blacktown, as lean and hungry as the jackals themselves, heard them and yelped a jealous defiance. A cat mewed in the adjoining yard and the chatter of the servants came up faintly from the kitchen below.

As Margery stood by her window listening first to the sounds in the house and then to various soft noises of the night outside, she was torn by fear on one hand and desire on the other. She was no coward; at the same time she could not be accused of rashness. It was the hour named by the sentinel for their meeting.

Should she go? She had made no promise. If she had been free to do what she liked with her future she would not have hesitated. But she had to remind herself that she was the promised wife of Piet. No good could come of meeting one man when she was engaged to another. Yet—and yet I there could be no harm in just speaking to him once more. It would be better to tell him plainly that this kind of thing must not go on.

She was suddenly roused from her reverie. A sound of water rippling under the keel of a boat came in through the open casement. In an instant her scruples vanished. If only for his sake it was imperative now to meet him. He would linger there half the night; be missed from the barracks and get into terrible trouble, to be followed by one of those hideous military punishments that were a standing disgrace to a Christian race in their brutality.

She wrapped herself in a long black cloak that entirely hid her white frock. She opened her bedroom door and closing it behind her went softly down the stairs. The hall was very dark and she had to feel her way to the office where the key of the sally-port hung. Gripping it in her trembling fingers—she was a girl who could tremble and yet act—she slipped through the garden door, which was never locked, and out into the yard.

The piece of ground between the house and the end wall was not a success as a garden; and although the door was honoured by the name of the garden door, the confined space was called the back-yard. Guava and custard apple bushes flourished, but neither flower nor vegetable would grow. The soil at the lower end was nothing but river ooze from which the brackish water had been drained, and it was useless for all purposes of cultivation.

As a shipping yard the enclosure was, however, of value to the merchant. The flat-bottomed river boats came up to a landing-stage, and their cargoes could pass easily into the yard with very little labour. Margery threaded her way past piles of empty boxes; old grass and bamboo mats that had once formed the outer coverings of bales; palm-leaf wrappings and broken baskets which were scattered in all directions.

The place was familiar to her and she reached the door of the sally-port without accident. There was a soft tap on the outside. She put the key in the lock and turned it. Creede stood before her in the doorway, his arms stretched out and his firm hands ready to hold her tight. Before she could say a word her lover had found her lips. She remained passive in his embrace, too happy to remember anything but the joy of their meeting.

Recovering her presence of mind, she withdrew herself and thrust him away; but he was not a man to be repulsed. He laughed softly and whispered words of love in her ear.

“Oh, George, this is wicked of me! I ought not to be here!” she said, growing hot with the thought of her faithlessness, and covering her face with her hands.

“Wicked! Who dares to call you wicked, sweetheart! Only let me hear him! Don’t hide your pretty face. The night hides it more than enough for me.”

He drew her to him again and the minutes flew rapidly. Again she made an effort to tear herself away, but it was only half-hearted.

“I must not stay!” she said in his ear “Oh! when I saw you on the beach being carried here like a dead man, my heart failed me. I thought you were really dead.”

His voice was tender and soft as he replied:

“And when I opened my eyes and saw you, I thought so too. I thought I was in Paradise, dear love!”

“Foolish boy! Yes; I mean it! What folly made you enlist in the garrison?”

“The President demanded it and I could not refuse. Nor would I if I could; for it is the only way in which I can be near you.”

“Near me!” she exclaimed in sudden dismay, as she recalled the Dutchman and her relationship to him “It is madness! I shall be Piet’s wife in another three months. What would he and the Jearseys say if they only knew what I was doing!”

“Piet’s wife!” repeated Creede, his face darkening. “Never! It was on that subject that I wanted to speak to you, Margery.”

He took her in his arms again and she made no struggle to get away. It seemed to her that it was there, and there only, that she might find a haven of refuge from the net in which she had enmeshed herself. If deliverance was to come at all, it could only be looked for from the man who entered her life with the cyclone.

“How can I get free? I am like a bird caught in a net,” she said.

“Sweetheart, you must break with the Dutchman. You don’t love him. Your love is mine.”

“I am bound by my promise. How can I break it?”

“You were a child, nothing but a child when you gave the promise. They had no right to take it from you. It must be given back and you must be freed.”

He spoke authoritatively and she listened, willing to believe. Then she thought of Jearsey and his wife. They would take Piet’s side and bring all their influence to bear to hold her to her word. If they let her go, she would stand alone and friendless in that far-off land. She remembered the old story of Jearsey’s disappointment. It was before her time, but she had heard Mistress Povey discussed and almost invariably condemned. Sympathy was entirely with the jilted man. History would repeat itself in her case, and the sympathy of the English community in that little settlement would go with Piet and not with herself.

“If I break my promise and free myself, how can you claim me? I shall never be allowed to marry John Mitchell, a soldier of the garrison. If you ask for me under your own name, you will be imprisoned. The Directors are very angry with you and if they send you to prison, Heaven only knows when they will set you free. Oh, George, it was madness to run into the mouth of the lion as you have done!”

He soothed her fears in lover’s fashion.

“Don’t be frightened, dear heart! Leave it to me. All you have to do is to send the Dutchman about his business.”

“Without giving any reason? Is it possible?”

“It must be done,” he said. He was already jealous of Vandenberg and the privileges which as Margery’s accepted fiancé were his. “At present I am John Mitchell, halberdier in the Company’s service and late boatswain on board the Borneo. In public we are strangers; but there will be meetings like this if you will but be brave and break with the Dutchman.”

“Must it be done at once?”

“As soon as possible. As long as you are his promised wife he has a right to question you about your movements and forbid you to speak to a common soldier; but when you are free, no one can interfere with your actions.”

She was not convinced, and it seemed to her that Creede’s own position was hopeless. If he should succeed in escaping, he certainly could not take a wife with him. Once away from the Company’s settlement he could never return without the fear of imprisonment hanging over him, for the simple reason that he had broken one of the rules of their charter and laid himself open to the punishment they were empowered by the King to inflict.

“What reason am I to give for breaking my word?” she asked presently.

“Say that you do not love him. They cannot force you to marry him against your will.”

“I am not my own mistress yet; I am dependent on my guardian, Mr. Jearsey, for a home. He may turn me out of his house if I refuse to marry his wife’s nephew.”

“Let him! there are others who will befriend you,” he replied hotly. Inwardly he fumed at his own inability to fight her battles for her. “Promise me, sweetheart, that you will send the man about his business as soon as possible.”

“I will do what I can. Where shall I be able to see you?”

“Here, beloved, when I am not on night duty. At present I shall be on guard at the St. Thoma Gate during the day. You will find that part of the Fort the best for taking the air during the next few days.”

She smiled at him in the starlight and did her best to be brave.

“You must be going and I must slip back to my room. How quiet the house is! I hope every one is sound asleep.”

“Just five minutes more, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “I can get away in a moment if we are disturbed. I haven’t said half what I wanted to say.”

The time flew by; they heard ten o’clock strike on the gong. Margery shrank close under the shadow of the wall and drew her companion with her. She still feared lest they should be discovered; her fear was more for him than for herself. The servants had retired to their “godowns” on the ground floor, and she need not have been alarmed. The fruit bushes were a good cover and the superstitions of the slaves held them safely within their rooms. Not one of them would have ventured into that labyrinth of lumber during the dark hours of the night for fear of meeting a devil. Margery once more warned him that it was time to return to the barracks.

“Does the Dutchman kiss you often?” he asked; a sudden jealousy seizing him as the moment of parting approached.

Before she could reply there came a sound of footsteps passing down the street with the ring of iron-shod pikes and clank of armour.

“Go quickly, George!” cried Margery in terror “It is the guard. Something is wrong, and they are going to one of the houses in this street. What can it be? Are they looking for you?”

“Dear heart, don’t be so frightened! I am sure they are not troubling themselves about me.”

So anxious was she that he should escape as speedily as possible that she seized him by the arm and drew him outside the door towards the landing-stage where he had tied his boat. Then releasing him she fled to the sally-port, closed the door and ran back to the house. He wasted no time after she left him. Taking up his oars he rowed silently away, and was lost to sight under the river bank.

With beating heart Margery hung up the key in the office and ran upstairs. She had barely closed the door of her room when there came a thundering knock at the hall door. A man outside demanded to have it opened without delay. It took some minutes to awaken the house. Jearsey in nightcap and dressing-gown came out of his room, his eyes heavy with the first sleep of the night. He encountered Mrs. Nicks on the landing. She, too, had been roused by the knocking.

“What is the matter, Mrs. Nicks?” he asked in the bewilderment of his abrupt awakening “Has anyone tumbled downstairs?”

“It is some one at the front door,” she replied “I thought I heard a footstep on the stairs just now, but I may have been mistaken. You had better go down and see, for the door is not yet opened.”

The hammering was renewed by the impatient corporal, who was in a hurry to get his business ended. Without further ado Jearsey fetched a rush light from his room and shuffled down to hear what the disturbers of his rest wanted.

There were heavy footsteps through the hall and a buzzing of many voices in the servants’ quarters. Lights flitted hither and thither. The soldiers had entered and were searching the premises below, including the yard. The sally-port was not opened. Jearsey and the corporal held a long conversation. At length the corporal seemed satisfied. He gave the words of command; the men formed up again in the street, and marched away. Jearsey closed and barred the front door. Then he walked to the servants’ quarters and spoke to his butler. The frightened women were ordered back to their rooms, and the house settled down to its usual quietude except for the whisperings of the women among themselves.

Jearsey came upstairs to-the broad landing where Mrs. Nicks still stood. Mrs. Jearsey had joined her. The Dutch lady was dressed in a voluminous skirt and cotton jacket that she had put on over her bed-gown. Her large frilled night-cap was awry and she formed a striking contrast to Mrs. Nicks in her white dimity dressing-gown and smart little lace cap.

“What’s the matter, Jearsey?” asked his wife, her mind running on thieves from the Blacktown.

“The President has lost one of his women servants.”

“A runaway slave! What a fuss to make about such a thing! Did he think that we had stolen the hussy?” she asked with some warmth. Mrs. Jearsey always resented any disturbance that broke her night’s rest.

“No; but he imagined that it was possible she might be visiting one of our women; and finding it late, had been afraid to return till the morning, when she could get in without being seen.”

“Did the corporal say which woman it is who is missing?” asked Mrs. Nicks.

“It is the maid who attends the President’s little son. The child is crying himself into a fever, the corporal tells me, because Mary is lost. Solomon, the bearer, is distracted. He has lately been married to the girl, and the loss of her is driving him mad. He is fit for nothing. He went off to the Blacktown to look for her, and no one knows what trouble he may get into there.”

“Has Mary been seen in the Blacktown?” asked Mrs. Nicks.

“Not that they know of.”

“It is very strange. Mary is not inclined to wander. I suppose inquiry has been made of all the sentinels at the gates.”

“The guards say that she has not passed into the Fort since she left it to go with the children to the beach. The children returned rather later than usual in the twilight. It is very difficult for the sentinels to recognize the various servants who go in and out. I assured the corporal that she was not here, and asked him to search for himself. He was satisfied; so we may go to bed in peace,” concluded Jearsey, moving towards his bedroom.

“They’ll find the girl in the Blacktown, the gossiping hussy!” said Mrs. Jearsey “If she were my servant I would give her a good beating for playing a trick like that.” The worthy couple turned into their room again and shut the door; Kitty stood for a minute looking at Margery’s room, which also opened on the landing. She listened, but could hear no movement within. She softly lifted the latch of the door and looked in. All was dark and silent.

“Asleep? How strange! I am sure I heard her come upstairs just as the men knocked. What can the child have been about?” she said as she retired to her own room.

Chapter XIII

It was three o’clock on the afternoon of the following day.

Little Davie’s eyes were red with weeping, and his head rested wearily on his mother’s shoulder. He had cried his heart out till he was exhausted.

“I think my Mary must be gone to Heaven, mother!” he said with a sobbing catch of the breath that pierced his mother’s heart.

“No, darling; not yet.”

“Davie is so tired; Mary knows how to put Davie to sleep,” said the child plaintively.

“She is coming back soon,” replied Mrs. Yale, hoping to lessen his grief by making vague promises that probably would never be fulfilled.

“Will she be an angel and have wings when she comes?” He rested in her arms quietly for a short space. Then starting up he asked for Solomon.

“He has gone to look for Mary.”

The tears welled up in his tired eyes.

“Oh, mother, the servants say that the bad man has got Mary just as he stole ’Lisbeth! And now he has got Solomon. We must go and look for Solomon.”

He roused himself, and Mrs. Yale, knowing that opposition only brought on a paroxysm of fresh tears, consented to make yet another search. The new wooden sword was girded on the little knight and they started on their quest.

It had been made half a dozen times that morning already. Every room from the top of the house to the basement had been examined. Each time the expedition ended in the same manner—failure to find the missing Mary.

Mrs. Yale dreaded it even when she consented. In such a climate much weeping led to attacks of fever. The two little girls joined in the hunt, at first hopefully; but in the end the sight of their brother’s tears usually unlocked the fountain of their own in pure sympathy.

Mother and son went through the bedrooms yet once more, looking under the beds and in cupboards to satisfy the unreasoning child. At his request he was carried downstairs to his father’s office. He rushed in upon his father with a demand that the big storerooms should be opened and searched.

While Yale and his wife stood in the hall wondering how best they could entice the child to return to the cooler upper story, Mrs. Nicks appeared at the front door.

Mrs. Yale hailed the diversion with relief. Kitty saw at a glance what was the matter. She took Davie in her arms, dried his eyes and carried him with a rush upstairs. He forgot the purpose for which he had sought his father and was quite willing to be amused. She produced from her pocket a wonderful ball of coloured worsted. He received it with a shout of delight which gladdened his mother’s heart; and Davie and his godmother were soon absorbed in a romp over the new treasure.

They were too much interested in their game to hear footsteps on the stairs, or to catch sight of two figures that stood in the doorway. A sudden scream from Davie as he turned his head in that direction startled Mrs. Nicks.

“Solomon! Solomon!” he cried, running towards the door with headlong speed.

The man caught him in his arms and his eyes swam with sudden tears. Yale looked at him and wondered if he had been wise in consenting to allow the bearer to return to his duties so soon.

“Remember, Solomon! not a word to the child; not a sign!”

“Excellency, your slave obeys!” he replied, choking down his emotion.

“Where is Mary? Have you found my Mary?” asked Davie breathlessly.

Solomon’s eyes sought his master’s. In them was an appeal to which Yale responded at once.

“Sonnie! Mary has gone to get more guns for your Fort. She will have to fight the Moghul, so she may be a long time coming back. You must be a good boy and wait patiently.”

“Solomon will take care of me till she comes,” said the child bravely “He may play with my new ball if he likes.”

Still clinging jealously to his bearer, as though afraid to let him go lest he should disappear again, Davie displayed the gift. Mrs. Yale looked at her husband with a glance of inquiry. For answer he shook his head. To the child he said:

“What a beautiful ball! Who gave it to you, my son?”

“Godmother brought it.”

“Take it to the nursery and show it to Cathie and Annie.” Chattering of his new toy, Davie allowed himself to be carried away. Yale went nearer to his wife and laid a kindly hand upon her shoulder.

“You are tired, beloved. Sit down and rest. Kitty will keep you company. I mustn’t stay as I have a lot to do in the office,” said Yale, who had been quick to notice her fatigue.

“I have had a terrible time with the child since nine o’clock last night,” said Mrs. Yale with a tired sigh as soon as her husband had departed “The search for the girl began then. We were very uneasy about her absence from the time she failed to appear in the nursery after the return of the children from the beach. I imagined that she was in her own room preparing Solomon’s supper, and that she would turn up as soon as the boy had to be undressed. I noticed that Solomon was puzzled because she did not appear. I sent him down to inquire if she was busy cooking. He returned with a scared face saying that she was not there and had not been seen by any of the other servants who have their rooms near his.”

“Did Davie worry about her absence?”

“Not until it was time for his bath. He is rather spoiled I am afraid. He wouldn’t let anyone wash him; and kicked and screamed even at me. However, with Solomon’s help we got him to bed at last and he fell asleep. At about nine o’clock Solomon began to cry, as these people will on such occasions. We could hear his wailing upstairs, and it woke Davie. We sent the man off to search. He took a message to the guardroom, asking the guard to see if Mary was in any of the houses inside the Fort. Solomon did not return. I believe the poor fellow has been tramping about the Blacktown all night.”

“Has nothing been heard of her?”

“Nothing at all. Elihu tells me that no trace can be found anywhere.”

“When was she last seen?”

“She took Davie to the beach as usual and Solomon carried him home at sunset. Mary walked behind with his spade and toys. Just before they reached the Sea Gate a man was seen to stop her and say something; and she turned back with him. No one seems able to identify him. We supposed that she must have dropped something of Davie’s or left it on the beach; and she went back to fetch it. When she was out of sight of us all she must have been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped in broad daylight and on the beach!” said Kitty with incredulity in her tone. “Could such a thing take place?”

“It wasn’t broad daylight. The sun had set. They were all a little late in returning; Davie’s fault again, or our fault in giving in to his whims. By the time the party reached the Fort it was dusk.”

“Could she have gone away with another man? I have heard of a girl doing that where she was strongly tempted.”

“I cannot believe it of Mary!” exclaimed Mrs. Yale. “She was too much attached to Solomon and far too comfortable here to wish to leave us. I gave Solomon a room for himself and his wife after they were married. They were so contented and happy; it was a pleasure to me to see their happiness.”

“Mary has always been a good servant, hasn’t she?”

“Exceptionally so,” responded Mrs. Yale warmly. “She was my maid till Davie took a fancy to her. You know how Elihu worships the child. He lets him have everything he asks for. He bought me another maid and I gave up Mary. I trained her just as I trained ’Lisbeth and now I have lost her in exactly the same way.”

Mrs. Yale was a careful housewife and took infinite pains to teach her servants. It was provoking to lose them thus. Kitty Nicks remained silent for a time; she was thinking deeply.

“Well-trained servants command a big price,” she said presently. “Her disappearance is mysterious. It looks as though we had a slave-trader in our very midst.”

Mrs. Yale gave her a frightened glance. It was a terrible suggestion if Kitty was alluding to the Europeans; she had put it in such a way that her words might be so construed.

“Surely none of our people would do such a thing!” she said gravely.

Kitty laughed with an upward toss of the head that signified the touch of recklessness that peeped out now and then.

“You never know what may or may not be done for money out in the East. If you don’t want to do it first hand, you can always find an agent in this heathenish land to act for you.”

Mrs. Yale stared at her without taking in the full meaning of her words. The mind of the President’s wife moved slowly and never went far from her own immediate affairs. Just now it was fixed upon her household. She had other good servants in her establishment whom she would be just as sorry to lose as Mary.

“My husband believes that the kidnapping is done by one of the St. Thoma Portuguese merchants,” said Mrs. Yale.

“It may be so,” replied Kitty.

Further conversation was prevented by a cry that came from the nursery. Mrs. Yale sprang up.

“That’s Davie again. I must go and see what’s the matter.”

Mrs. Nicks followed and they entered the nursery, a cool airy room that looked out towards the sea over the roofs of the lower buildings where the kitchen and servants’ rooms were situated. A difficulty had arisen with Davie. It was Mary’s duty to dress him for his afternoon walk, and he rebelled with unreasoning childishness against being dressed by anyone else. As the boy fretfully repulsed Cathie’s ayah, Mrs. Yale glanced at Kitty, who read the appeal in her eye. With tactful bustle and importance she called Solomon to help the President of Fort St. David and to bring his sword of state.

“Now, Solomon, quickly! the shoes and hat while Mary is fighting that wicked Moghul.”

Davie was fascinated by the make-believe. As Governor of the wonderful castle on the beach he submitted to be dressed. His sword was buckled on while his sisters acted as bis bodyguard.

With all her diplomacy Kitty did not succeed in getting him out of the house without another trouble. The new gun and other precious trifles were missing and he refused to go without them. They were in Mary’s charge when she disappeared. Again the inventive genius of his godmother bridged the difficulty. A round ruler from the office table replaced the gun and a spoon of coco-nut shell from the kitchen made a novel and delightful spade.

While Solomon went for the spoon Mrs. Nicks held the child in her arms and looked into his face with longing eyes. The clean white suit with lace frills at neck and wrists was cut from a pattern she had lent Mrs. Yale. His hair curled in long ringlets over his shoulders and he wore a large shady hat with a feather in it. On his feet were white shoes ornamented with rosettes. She kissed him and gave him back to his bearer.

“Take care of him, Solomon; he is all you have now,” she said in Portuguese.

“May the Blessed Virgin preserve him!”

“And for his sake see that no one kidnaps you.”

The man’s eyes, heavy with sorrow, flashed in sudden passion.

“Lady, if the cursed one would attempt it I should rejoice! I might then have an opportunity of paying back something of what I owe him. But he does not dare to touch men like myself; he preys on weak women——”

Mrs. Nicks lifted a warning finger. The little folk were supposed to know nothing but English, and to be spoken to by the servants in that language. But it was impossible to prevent them from picking up something of the two vernaculars heard so continually around them. Davie’s eyes had grown round while the bearer talked, and he joined in the conversation.

“If the bad man takes Solomon, Davie will go too,” he said, putting his little arm round the man’s neck protectively.

“Jesu keep us safe from the bad man, my little master!” he exclaimed as he carried the child away.

The grief-stricken Solomon kept faith with his master and did his best to divert the child’s mind from the calamity that had befallen them. But while he comforted the boy for the loss of a servant, his own heart broke for the greater loss of a bride.

Slaves these men of the country might be, light-hearted, careless, irresponsible. They were also human beings, as capable of feeling the depth of joy and woe as their employers, but with less power of self-control.

This was the second time the man had suffered. On the first occasion sorrow had been the dominant emotion. He was a youth then. Now he was a man; and there awoke in him a deep savage anger against the evil-doer. It was in reality the blood-feud of the uncivilized; a blood-feud such as his ancestors must have felt when they pursued their enemies on the veldt in Africa, and hunted them with relentless perseverance to the death. He spoke no light word when he told Mrs. Nicks that he wished an attempt might be made upon his own person. It would be a sure means of learning who was his enemy.

When the children had departed for their usual playground on the sands, Mrs. Nicks asked if she might see the President again.

“Could he spare me five minutes? I have a message from my husband to give him,” she explained.

Mrs. Yale took her to his private sitting-room, which opened into the parlour. At this time of the day the office was occupied by native clerks. Yale was writing. He looked up as Mrs. Yale entered, followed by Kitty.

“Are you very busy, Elihu?”

“Never too busy to see you, wife. What is it?”

“Kitty has a message to give you.”

“Come in, Kitty,” he said, rising instantly from his chair and throwing down his pen. “What is it that your husband has to say?”

He drew forward a chair and adjusted the cushions.

“Will you excuse me?” asked Mrs. Yale. “I promised to pay a visit to Mistress Chardin this afternoon.” She kissed Kitty and pressed her to come again. “It will cheer little Davie if you will look in.”

“With pleasure if I have time.”

“How long do you remain in the Fort?” asked Mrs. Yale.

“I should like to get back to Cuddalore as soon as possible. It will depend upon the council how soon I can go.”

“Next time you come you must be our guest and you will bring the children, I hope.”

“In that case I must come by sea and make sure of fine weather.”

“The weather will be perfect in January. Good-bye; I must be off.”

Yale with the courtliness that marked his behaviour to all women remained standing while his wife talked. As she left the room he re-seated himself at his bureau. Leaning his chin upon his hand he looked at his visitor.

“Well, Kitty! What is it?”

Mrs. Nicks took a letter from the bag hanging on her arm and handed it to him.

“I received this enclosed in a packet which my husband sent by puttemar. The man arrived this morning.”

He read it through and filed it with other unanswered letters that had to be attended to.

“Nicks asks for broadcloth again. We sent him a supply only a month ago. Are the bales all disposed of?”

“Every one of them on the cotton cloth account. He has forwarded to you a quantity of muslins and coarser stuffs that you asked for and there is more coming. You have ordered him to buy up all the cotton cloth he can get, and to do so he must have some more English broadcloth. There is a large amount of material to be had just now. It would be wise to buy before there are disturbances and panics from this threatened invasion.”

A discussion followed concerning the quality of the cloth, in which Mrs. Nicks showed an intimate knowledge of the subject.

“And Nicks wants the bales at once,” remarked the President at its conclusion.

“As soon as you can let him have them.”

“The matter must be brought before the council. I can’t decide on anything without them. But you may tell your husband that we are sure to grant what he asks. Are you replying to-day?”

“The messenger starts back this evening.”

Yale took up the letter and looked at it again.

“I see that he also asks for an increase of the garrison. We are very short of men here; and I have had an urgent request for English soldiers in Java and Sumatra. The merchants want men who can help in the warehouses when they are off duty.”

“Can’t you send the topazes there?”

Yale shook his head as he replied: “They won’t go. They mutinied last year over being deported; and they are on the verge of it again. A rumour has somehow spread abroad that they are to be sent instead of English troops.”

“It is a pity; they might do very well there. Here they would not be of much use if the Moghul approached within fighting distance of the Fort.”

“They would be worse than useless,” declared Yale. “They would be panic-stricken and their fears would be communicated to the peons, possibly to the soldiers themselves. They are not worth their clothes nor their food to say nothing of their pay.”

“Can’t you force them to obey? Put them in irons and ship them off without further ado,” said Kitty.

She spoke without thought. Was not this the very thing which had caused and was still causing so much irritation among the natives in the so-called slave trading, and which the President was doing his best to put down? What a law-breaker at heart she was!

“Kitty!” he said with reproach in his voice.

The blood mounted to her face as he responded with some heat.

“Ah! after all the Company may be obliged to do a little kidnapping on its own account. If the Directors were a little less fautless they might have more consideration for the faulty.”

He turned away in vexed silence and played with a paper-cutter; she saw that he was hurt.

“Oh, my naughty tongue!” she cried. “Forgive me, Elihu. I was not thinking of what I was saying. I know that conciliation and gentleness is your best policy as representative of the Company. Of course you could not do such a thing. The topazes must be dismissed and their places filled with others who would be willing to go wherever they were required.”

He accepted her apology and she knew that she was forgiven. It was not by any means the first time they had had a difference and made it up again.

“Will your husband be satisfied to have some topazes at Cuddalore?” he asked.

She laughed, but raised her hands in protest against the proposal.

“We shall be in the same plight as yourselves if the Moghul comes. You are better off than we are since you have a Fort and we have no protection of any kind,” she said.

“It will be well if you treat the Moghul as my predecessor treated Sivajee, the Mahratta prince,” he remarked with a twinkle of the eye.

“How was that?” she asked.

“Sir Streynsham Master let the prince know that he was quite prepared to fight and sent him a present. Part of it was composed of cordials and counter-poisons—aqua vitae, spirit of aniseed, ginger jalap and the like. His Highness was so pleased that he sent for some more, and kept his guns and his men off Fort St. George. So get out your herbal, Kitty, and set to work to make some cordials for the Moghul.”

“I’ll warrant that he will not send for a second dose of my brewing!” cried Mrs. Nicks, her eyes alight with mischief.

Yale laughed as he rose from his chair.

“I must be going. I will see Captain Bett about the garrison and ask him if he can spare any men. Is there anything more, Kitty?”

For a brief space she hesitated. Should she ask for John Mitchell? The temptation to do so was great; but some instinct warned her that she must not appear too eager or she might rouse his suspicion.

“Yes; there is one thing more. I want to know how soon you can dispatch the cloth? I must make use of the escort to get back; the sooner the better as far as I’m concerned. Can you send it off in three days’ time?”

“I think we can. I have to meet Wavell at the godowns now, and I will ask him if it can be managed.”

“Do you think I might come with you and hear what he has to say?” she asked with some eagerness.

He smiled as he replied in the affirmative. He remembered how keen she was to see what the Company’s “go- downs” contained. No one in the Fort either in the service or out of it had a more accurate appreciation of the value of their imports and exports. The council at Fort St. George was not inclined to impart its commercial secrets to the free merchant, nor to allow him to learn what particular goods were in demand in the English market. The opportunity to see with her own eyes the preparations for the next shipping season was a piece of luck. Her presence in the warehouse would not be favourably regarded by any of the senior merchants who might happen to be there; but she cared nothing for their displeasure.

Chapter XIV

Mrs. Nicks and Yale left the house together. In addition to speaking with Wavell, the President intended to walk to the St. Thoma Gate to see how the work was progressing. Not being a visit of state but merely a private inspection, the roundel of state was dispensed with and he was accompanied by only two of his bodyguard. The peons accompanied him at a little distance, ready to come up if they were called.

The godowns or warehouses were in a block of substantial buildings erected for the purpose of storing all kinds of goods until they could be shipped. The larger halls were pillared and divided off with screens of matting. The smaller rooms had windows built high up and closely barred with iron. The doors were fastened with massive iron bolts and padlocks.

The foundations of the warehouses were laid on a sunk platform of laterite, an iron clay cut into blocks and hardened by exposure to the sun. The walls were four feet thick and built of undressed stone. The roof was supported on massive pillars which gave the larger rooms an appearance of handsome colonnaded halls. The wide double doors of the entrance were strongly bound in iron. Those merchants of the early days of the Company did things well; and their building was intended to last for all time even in a land where decay was rapid.

The merchants themselves came of good old English families. They were the younger sons whose heraldic badge might well be the martlet bird, the migrant; and they were sent forth by their fathers with a small fortune to make or mar their lives as best they could in the East. Most of them “made good” as the saying goes, if they survived the dangers of the climate.

As the Governor and Mrs. Nicks entered one of the big storerooms a busy scene met their eyes. It was familiar to both, and Kitty lifted her delicate nostrils with an appreciative indrawing of her breath as the warm dry air of the warehouse filled them. She loved the smell of the broadcloth scented with the oily atmosphere of the cloth mills along the Stroud valley. She sniffed at the cotton bales freshly dyed and envied Wavell his task of sorting.

Wavell sat upon a high chair in the middle of the hall. At his elbow stood Tom Yale and Higgenson. They had drifted in by way of finding some one to chat with; Tom Yale had no interest whatever in the stuff that lay around him; Higgenson was filled with the same sort of pleasure as stirred Kitty’s blood. There was this difference, however, between the two. Higgenson was heart and soul for the Company’s interests; Kitty for her own; and there was no love lost between the two.

The floor was strewn with bales of all kinds. Some of the calicoes were unbleached; some were dyed. The Company bought the calico in an unbleached state and employed their own staff of dyers.

The dyers worked on the west side of the Fort by the river under cover of the Fort guns. After being dyed the calicoes were laid out in the sun on the flat grassy expanse now known as the Island. When dry they were carried to the warehouses, sorted, labelled and packed ready for shipping, and stamped with the quaint “chop” or sign known as the Company’s mark. The undyed stuff was given out to the washers and dyers under the personal supervision of the merchants themselves, and the headmen were made responsible for its safety.

Opening into the large hall where Wavell was busy were other rooms. They were piled with goods of various kinds, some intended for the farther East; some destined for the English market. There were silks, broadcloths—popinjay green and scarlet colours predominating—cotton materials fine and coarse, saltpetre, indigo, spices; imports from England such as swords, knives, pistols, blunderbusses; copper, lead and tin; and barrels of wine. The Company also stored a large quantity of rice, which was served out in part payment to the various natives employed by the Company.

Wavell had been busy receiving back the calicoes from the dyers. In addition to counting them and making careful entries in the register book, he had to keep an eye open to see that the long lengths were properly rolled and formed into bales ready for their journey round by the Cape. He was tired and hot and was hoping to close down before long.

A number of clerks, slaves, overseers and peons were still hard at work. The slaves performed the heavy tasks of moving the bales and piling them after they were sorted. They were fine stalwart men, strong of limb and bearing witness to the liberality of the Company in the matter of diet.

The clerks or monthly writers kept the tallies under Wavell’s eye. The peons took the place of police and guarded against peculation.

A babel of voices filled the air, Portuguese and Tamil being used equally. The slaves chanted and grunted in musical unison as they heaved their loads into position. The overseers shouted orders; the washers squabbled over the division of their loads which had to be carried away for the next day’s bleaching and dyeing; and the peons hustled and pushed the slackers into greater activities.

Wavell jumped off his perch as soon as he caught sight of Yale. The two men plunged at once into a conversation relating to the non-delivery of goods that should have arrived.

Higgenson relapsed into silence. He was too well-bred to turn his back on Mrs. Nicks, as he was tempted to do in his disapproval of her presence as an acknowledged free merchant. He hoped to keep her at a distance by avoiding her eye. Her pretty ways, irresistible with most men, were lost upon him. With an amused smile she accepted the situation and turned to Tom Yale, with whom she was on excellent terms.

“Anything been discovered yet about the slave dealing, Tom?” she asked.

“Not that I know of,” he replied.

“What is your opinion of the matter?”

He looked at her with a twinkle of the eye as he answered:

“Why, of course, that there is a woman in it! Did you ever know a mystery where there wasn’t a woman at the bottom of it?”

The bait was taken and some good-natured chaff ensued which was pure fun and had nothing serious whatever in it. Higgenson could not help hearing what was said. He understood nothing of their foolish banter. Yale returned to Mrs. Nicks.

“There will be no difficulty over the dispatch of the broadcloth which your husband asks for. Wavell can send as much as he requires; but the order must come before the council and be sanctioned. I am afraid you will not get away in three days’ time, however. He hasn’t the bearers just now to spare for the long journey.”

“It doesn’t matter; Mrs. Jearsey will gladly keep me a few days longer,” she replied.

“Do you know this make of cotton material?” Yale asked, picking up the end of a roll and showing it to her.

She looked at him with amusement in her eyes.

“It is one of the very pieces I sold to you myself,” she replied.

Tom Yale laughed; but Higgenson’s expression grew if anything more severe. The Governor was slightly taken aback. He recovered himself instantly.

“It is better than any your husband has previously sent. Can you get more of it?”

“As much as you like to order. It was an experiment of mine. The stuff looks poor undyed and was actually refused by you in that state when offered down here. I had it dyed under my personal supervision. It takes the colour well and thickens into a cloth of good substance. The colour is fast and you will notice that the stuff is broader than usual. Excellent material it will prove for curtains and valances. I wish I could send it straight into the English market. I warrant I could make a fortune out of it?”

“It would be infringing the Company’s charter, Mrs. Nicks,” said Higgenson, speaking for the first time.

She laughed and there was a suspicion of scorn in her voice as she answered him:

“Never fear for your charter! I have plenty of means of trading without meddling with your monopolies; but I don’t intend to tell you what they are!”

She swung round on her red heels, gathered her skirt about her as though she feared a touch that might be contaminating and marched away, Yale following. It did not silence the angry member of council.

“I have no doubt that you are more enterprising than we are, madam,” he said, addressing her retreating figure. Possibly she did not hear his concluding remarks; which, however, reached the ears of the President. “And less scrupulous, where human beings are concerned.”

“I am going on to the St. Thoma Gate. Will you come?” said Yale, anxious to get away without further parley.

She expressed her readiness to do so and they continued their walk. The southern and western end of the Fort was not in favour as a residential part but was given up to warehouses. A new house was in course of construction at the corner of the street and its windows looked on to the unfinished gate. This was to be Margery’s home when she was married. Mrs. Nicks glanced round with a critical eye.

“This end of the Fort always seems so desolate and deserted,” she remarked.

“Only after the warehouses are closed, ladies don’t often come this way. If they did they would find it very busy in the morning with the porters and the peons coming and going.”

“Why are you making a gate here?”

“For the convenience of the Muckwas who act as bearers for the inland goods. We hope also to use it for shipping. Some of the smaller ships can get up the river when the bar is open at certain times of the year. It will be convenient if we can load and unload there instead of having to do it in the open roads with surf boats. The loss to the Company is large when the weather is rough.”

“I suppose there is little fear of the Fort being attacked on this side because of the river.”

“Practically none,” replied Yale confidently. “Our weak point is on the north and north-west, where there is no river and no moat that is of real use. I should very much like to wall in the Blacktown and bring it under our protection and control.”

“The free merchants of the Fort won’t like that,” remarked Kitty, glancing at him sideways.

She could see that her remark did not please him and she chuckled inwardly. The temptation to “bait” a Company’s merchant, even if he were an old friend, was too great to keep her silent.

They approached the gate. The wall and earthworks were pierced and it was possible to pass outside. A guardroom had been erected close to the opening. The big doors not being in position, the gateway was filled in with a temporary door of wood.

Near the door stood a European sentinel. Mrs. Nicks’s quick eyes swept over his figure and noted his fine proportions, which made the breast-plate of the old Tudor armour that he was compelled to wear, a tight fit.

At the approach of the President with his small bodyguard the soldier stood at attention and saluted. There was a little awkwardness about his movement as though he was not quite sure of himself. It made Kitty smile.

“What a fine fellow!” she said in a low voice.

“He has just been enlisted. You see how short of men we are when Bett has to send a new recruit like this on duty,” replied Yale.

At a word from the President, the sentinel opened the door. Beyond was a stretch of waste ground reaching to the banks of the river. The bar of the Cooum was still open, and those who wished to pass must use the ferry boat which was lying without a keeper on the mud flat beyond the bank.

Near the Fort were strewn blocks of stone, dried bricks, beams of wood and other debris of building material that the workmen had left. Beyond the littered space the ground was equally uninviting. It was partly sand and partly mud. Cactus, stunted palms and coarse grass grew in groups and tussocks suggesting lizards and snakes. Kitty glanced down at her dainty shoes with their rosettes peeping from beneath the lace frills of her petticoat. She was not clad for rough walking. Stopping on the threshold of the door she said:

“I think I will stay here while you go on by yourself; the path is not inviting.”

“I shall not be long,” he said. “I must just look round to see what building material they have to go on with.”

She watched him for a short time as he picked his way among the heaps of mortar and sand and the piles of stone and wood. She looked at the sentinel and then again at Yale. He was safely out of hearing by this time.

“Are you John Mitchell?” she asked.

“The same, at your service, madam,” he replied with a courtly bow that betrayed him on the spot.

Kitty’s eyes brimmed with amusement.

“Your manners were not learned in the barrack-room, John Mitchell,” she observed.

“You are right, madam. I am making my acquaintance with the barrack-room for the first time.”

“Nor in the fo’c’stle of a ship.”

He bowed again in courtly assent, wondering who she could be. Kitty enjoyed the fun of mystifying him, and possibly of startling him as well. She continued:

“More likely you learned your manners of—Mr. George Creede.”

At the mention of his name he drew nearer and said in a low voice: “I have never seen you before, have I?”

“Never; but I have seen you. I was on the beach on Sunday when you were brought in more dead than alive.”

“May I have the pleasure of knowing to whom I am speaking, madam?”

Kitty laughed and looked up archly into his blue eyes: as she made reply:

“A pretty speech for a common soldier, upon my word! Yes, you may know as much as that. I am Mrs. Nicks, the wife of the Chief of the Company’s Factory, Cuddalore. The Raven anchored off Cuddalore and Captain Goodwyn was my guest. I reproached him for not bringing Mr. Creede with him.”

“How could I know that I should be welcome? The Directors quarrelled desperately with Mr. Creede and threatened him with imprisonment if they found him at any of their factories in the East. There are penalties attached to the entertainment of an interloper.”

“Perhaps I might risk those penalties since you are a friend of Miss Margery Armadale.”

The warm blood mounted to Ms brow and he was about to reply when she checked him with a sign.

“Go to your post,” she said quickly. “The President is returning. Meet me at Bridger’s this evening. I have something to say to you.”

He resumed his position by the guard-room, but not before Yale had seen him standing close to Kitty in conversation. As Yale came up she said with ready tongue:

“I have been passing the time by asking this man how he likes the barrack-room. He is just the kind of halberdier we want at Cuddalore.”

Yale ran a critical eye over him as he stood at attention. The fair Saxon skin still bore the flush which had been called up by Kitty’s mention of Margery.

“I am afraid we can’t spare him,” he answered, turning away. He was sorry to be disobliging; but he believed that in the Company’s interests it would be better to keep Mitchell at the Fort, in case he might be required for one of the homeward-bound ships leaving a couple of months hence, when the north-east monsoon should have blown off some of its violence.

They walked on slowly in a silence that Kitty herself broke. She had been debating in her mind how far she dared go in pushing her request.

“That man—Mitchell, I think he told me was his name—is just the kind of soldier we want at Cuddalore,” she said again, her eyes reading his face like a book. “Perhaps you have others as good as he is whom you can spare.”

“I’ll ask Bett; they are a rough lot in the barracks and need discipline.”

“Then they won’t do for us. We have no means of controlling them and keeping them out of the ’rack houses. I am sure from the look of him that Mitchell is not that sort. He may be trusted not to get drunk and out of hand,” she replied.

Yale did not answer. He knew that Bett wanted to keep Mitchell in the Fort and promote him as soon as he had learned his work. At the same time he would have been glad to have granted Kitty’s request for an old friend’s sake. She looked at him as though waiting for some kind of response.

“Captain Bett wants Mitchell here. I don’t like to interfere with his arrangements for the garrison.”

“As President and Governor, your word is law,” she said.

“All the more reason why I should not force it upon my subordinates. What is in your mind, Kitty? Why do you ask for John Mitchell?” he demanded suddenly.

She laid a hand lightly on his arm, yet not so light that he failed to feel the pressure of her fingers and the slight trembling that accompanied the pressure.

“Oh, Elihu, don’t you know? Can’t you see that with the country so disturbed, we live in more or less peril of our lives out there by ourselves. As I said before, we have no protection, not even a properly fortified house in which we could defend ourselves. We are only a handful of Europeans in an uncivilized country. I should not mind so much if it were not for the little girls, my three daughters. They are the same ages as your own. What would become of them if we fell into the hands of hostile savages?”

“I hope no such calamity will happen,” said Yale, startled at the forcible suggestion.

“If I had a man like Mitchell,” continued Mrs. Nicks, feeling that she was making an impression, “I should know that the children had a protector who might be trusted to do the best, should the worst occur. I could rely on him and on his judgment.”

“Don’t let your mind run on such horrors!” urged Yale.

Kitty laughed a little bitterly.

“When we consented to serve the Company, we undertook to face dangers and go wherever they chose to send us. The Directors have only one consideration in view. That is their trade. The dangers connected with it do not trouble their minds in the least.”

He could not deny the truth of her words.

“We have never yet had a disaster on the Coromandel coast,” he said.

“We were not far off it in Master’s time with the Mahrattas only a few miles away. And now with the Moghul’s troops advancing south who can say what dangers may not be threatening us?” She caught her breath in a little sigh of resignation and continued more quietly: “However, if old Bett has made up his mind to keep all his best men in the Fort, there is nothing more to be said. Only it is a little hard on us, who have no choice but to live where the Directors send us.”

“I will speak to Bett and see if he is willing to let Mitchell go,” said Yale at last.

“No! don’t trouble to interfere,” replied Kitty firmly. “If Bett and the rest of you are nervous, by all means keep every man you have got; and I will tell John that he must get along as best he can. I wish we had a fort. I shall be driven into buying Tevanaputnam.”

Before Yale could reply, an African negro advanced quickly and fell at the President’s feet.

Chapter XV

Africans were by no means uncommon in India in those days. They had been imported from Africa as slaves and had no connexion with the country except by marriage. They were regarded favourably by Europeans, as they were considered to be less susceptible to the influence of native rulers than the Hindus.

“May I speak with your Honour? May a base-born son of the dust say a little word?” asked the man.

“What is it?” said Yale, looking down upon him in surprise.

For answer the African unrolled a small bundle, and Davie’s playthings lay before the President’s astonished eyes. There was the wooden gun, the last new treasure, the flag belonging to Fort St. David, the spade with which Davie’s fort had been built, and the bucket which carried the water to fill the moat round his wonderful castle of sand. All had been in Mary’s hands when she disappeared.

“Where did you find them?” asked Yale.

The African pointed to the gate.

“Out there by the river bank; they were lying in the grass. I knew that they belonged to your Honour’s son, because I have often seen the little master playing with them on the beach.”

Yale signed to one of his peons to take charge of the toys and bade the African rise.

“Show me where the toys were lying.”

The man sprang to his feet and led the way through the Fort Gate; the President followed across the drawbridge over the moat. They took a narrow footpath running between the Fort and the river used chiefly by the Muckwas. Kitty, mindful of her shoes, remained on the drawbridge, curious and excited; exercising all her self-control to look the indifference she did not feel.

The African stopped nearly opposite to Jearsey’s sally-port. The grass near the river was trampled and there were footmarks in the mud on the bank. Among them was the impress of a European shoe. The negro pointed to a spot at a little distance, saying that he found the toys there. It was about the space a man might cast them if he stood upon the bank.

Yale walked to and fro searching for signs. He went on to the landing-stage, a roughly built platform standing on piles driven into the mud. He remained motionless in deep thought. A slight movement on the part of the negro recalled his attention.

“Who are you and what is your name?” he asked.

“Protector of the poor, I am Domingo, the head servant of Mr. Vandenberg.”

“Where are you living?”

“At my master’s house in the Blacktown. His Honour can tell your excellency all about me.”

“How long have you been in his service?”

“Seven years, sir. My master bought me in Masulipatam.”

“I should like to know how you came by these toys.”

“I was fishing along the bank, sir, and my toe struck against the spade.”

Fishing in the river when the sea was rough was a common occupation among the servants of the Fort. Anything they caught made a welcome addition to the evening meal.

“You can go; if I want you I will let your master know,” said the President. The man salaamed and departed at once. Yale turned to the peon who had accompanied him from the gate. “Follow him and see where he goes. I want to know if he has told the truth.”

Left to himself, Yale walked from the stage to the door in Jearsey’s wall. His brows contracted as he traced the marks of the shoes to the sally-port. He noticed that there were signs of two people having lately trod the soft soil lying between the landing and the door. One of them was a woman. The impress was too small to be a man’s. The other was that of a European of weight and probably large build. They had gone in and out quite recently.

At the stage itself he detected torn weeds and certain marks made by the grating of a boat, as it was drawn up and tied to a stake.

He retraced his steps slowly, his mind perturbed by all he had seen and all he suspected.

“Well!” exclaimed Kitty, scanning his face as he reached the drawbridge. “What did you discover?”

“There are traces certainly of people having recently been upon the river bank where the man says that he found the toys. We have only his word for it that he picked them up there.” They were walking under the archway, and Yale glanced at the sentry. “I cannot believe that Mary could have gone to the spot by way of this gate without being seen by the guard.”

“The man may have been careless,” said Kitty. “If it were not for the guard, there would be no difficulty whatever in taking goods and slaves away by this gate. It is so little used in comparison with the two in the north wall, the Choultry and the Middle Gates. All the time I have been standing here I have seen not a soul but the sentry.” She added, as if more to herself than her companion: “The river is very handy on this side; it comes so close to the Fort.”

Yale’s eyes rested on her in doubt and uneasiness. How her mind ran on clandestine trading and opportunities. He replied with a touch of impatience:

“Of course such a thing could be done if the guard were corruptible.”

“Do you doubt the corruptibility of your garrison after what you have told me about their characters?” she asked with a laugh that jarred upon him.

“I have no reason to believe that any of the men in the garrison, rough as they may be, would aid or abet the kidnapping of one of my own servants,” he said with some warmth.

“You don’t know the power of money, long as you have lived in the corrupt East. There is nothing it will not do. Don’t forget that we all risk our lives in this abominable climate for one reason alone, and that is to make a fortune. Make it honourably if you can, but—make it if you desire to see England again.”

He strode along in moody silence by her side till they arrived at Jearsey’s door.

“Good-bye!” said Kitty cheerfully. Noting his anxious expression she added: “Don’t fret about any thing that can’t be remedied. For my part I consider one servant is as good as another. If it were not for poor Davie and Solomon, I should not trouble about it, if I were you.”

“Kitty!” he cried in protest as he stood facing her in the roadway. “I wish you could see this business in the light in which I look at it. It is the principle of it that I regard; not the personal inconvenience, which is bad enough. Slave trading is a direct breach of our Christian law. It is an offence against our fellow-men. If it is done by a native or even a half-caste Portuguese I could make allowances; but everything points to its being the work of a European. The European may be working indirectly, through a St. Thoma merchant, but I believe that nothing but a European brain could carry it on successfully.”

He spoke as though making a special appeal to her to show some sort of disgust at what was going on; but she would not take him seriously. She pursed up her lips and glanced saucily into his eyes, as she was wont to do when she anticipated a lecture on her shortcomings; and she tried to evade his seriousness by making one of her light little speeches that had put him off in the past and driven him to the sedate Mrs. Hynmers.

“Ah, Presidents are obliged to have principles! They become you well, Elihu! But Kitty Nicks is only a weak woman. She is often obliged to leave her principles at home, and only bring them out on Sundays when she puts on her best hat and frock. Ah! There is Captain Goodwyn! The very man I want to see! I must have a word with him. Good-bye, Elihu. I shall look in to-morrow to see Davie—and perhaps, the President as well, if he is not riding too high a horse to have a word for naughty me!”

She cast a coquettish glance at him over her shoulder as she tripped across the street to speak to an interloper, an action that she knew he would regard as a covert menace to the Company’s charter.

Yale’s eyes followed her dainty figure, flooded with the golden light of the sunset. As his eyes rested on her, his thoughts flew back to the Katherine Barker he had known in his earlier days. How well he remembered that daintiness of dress and elusiveness of speech, provoking, daring, alluring. The matron had lost none of the charms of the girl.

But even as he gazed at her moving towards Goodwyn, who was smiling with pleasure, a dark suspicion flashed across his mind. He fought against it; but he could not banish it altogether. It was impossible to forget her insatiable love of trading, of driving bargains, of speculating; her open defiance of the Directors. Anything that was forbidden had a fatal attraction for her. Could it be possible that she would be tempted——?

“No, no!” he cried, ashamed of his suspicions. “A thousand times no!”

He told himself again that it was his duty to her and his employers to check this reckless, lawless trading. For her own sake it should be stopped. But how could he do it without breaking good old John Nicks, who entered the Company’s service before himself, and had served the Directors faithfully for many years? As for Kitty, he could not hurt her for her own sweet sake.

He glanced back as he reached the corner of the street. Goodwyn and Kitty were deeply absorbed in conversation. She talked fast—he knew her tricks so well—and she had in Goodwyn a listener who was interested to the absorption of all other matters.

A little sigh escaped Yale’s lips as he resumed his way and passed on. He would rather have seen her in any other company than Goodwyn’s. He was about to enter his own door when Nathaniel Higgenson came up with him from behind. Higgenson stopped and said with some significance:

“I saw Mrs. Nicks in deep conversation with Goodwyn just now.”

“So did I,” replied Yale shortly.

He knew Higgenson’s aversion for the lady-merchant and did not wish to hear any disparaging remarks.

“I suppose you can guess what that means,” said the other disagreeably.

“I don’t know why we should assume that all is not honest and above board, considering that Captain Goodwyn has no ship.”

“All the same, I’ll warrant that they were putting their heads together over more interloping.”

“If so they had better take care that we do not catch them, eh, Higgenson?” replied Yale, making light of the accusation.

The member of council looked at him severely.

“You are too lenient, sir. You are too blind where your friends and relatives are concerned.” This was a hit at Tom Yale as well as Kitty. “For all you know Mrs. Nicks and Goodwyn may be doing something in the diamond trade. I hear she helped the merchants to get away from Golcondah.”

“If so, I know nothing about it,” replied Yale with some heat.

He and Higgenson were old friends and had been associated together for several years in the service of the Company. Since Yale had become President the member of council had felt that an indefinable barrier had risen between them; they moved on different official planes, a fact that Higgenson resented.

Yale was turning towards his door when the other laid a hand upon his arm.

“One moment. Has it ever struck you that Mrs. Nicks may herself have a hand indirectly in this slave trade which is worrying us?”

The question roused Yale’s ire and he turned angrily on Higgenson.

“You wrong her—indeed you do!” he said hotly.

“I hope you may be right, sir,” replied Higgenson with a smile of incredulity. “I wish I could think as well of her as you do. In my opinion she is a woman who will stick at nothing where there is money to be made.”

Yale could only repeat what he said before, and express his belief in her good faith. Higgenson, however, was not to be convinced.

“I should like to have Mistress Nicks searched just before she leaves the Fort. I’ll wager we should find some very fine diamonds upon her neat little person, and they would not be worn for ornaments.”

“I shall have nothing to do with the perpetration of such an outrage,” said Yale, as he strode away too angry to talk with his colleague any longer.

Higgenson broke into a scornful laugh that was not pleasant to hear and continued his way towards the Middle Gate.

As Yale entered his house the sound of children’s voices upstairs reminded him of the recovered toys. The little ones were just having supper before being put to bed. He directed the peon who had brought in the toys to place them on the table in his sitting-room. He sent for Solomon.

The bearer came in with a scared look, which changed instantly as his eyes fell on the toys. He bounded forward and laid a hand upon them, looking to his master with wild eyes for an explanation.

“They were found by the river. The peon will show you the place. You may keep them if you like and I will have a new set made for Master Davie,” said Yale.

Solomon held the toys closely to his breast. They were links with his vanished wife, precious as being last seen in her hands and of priceless value as a possible means of following up a clue to her disappearance. He said nothing, but his eyes told of the gratitude that was in his heart. He salaamed and turned to leave the room. Yale, always considerate for any human being who was in trouble, said to the peon:

“Go with him now before it is quite dark and show him where they were found.”

Ten minutes later Solomon had learned all that the peon could tell him. The sun had sunk below the fringe of coco-nut palms in the west, and the sky glowed with a deep orange. The pale light, following the afterglow, enveloped river and landscape in a deep sombre grey. In the distance the sea moaned on the long straight shore.

There on the muddy banks of the Cooum river in the twilight that heralded the night, out of sight of his European master and mistress and his small charge, Solomon gave way to his grief. He wept aloud as strong men in the East will sometimes weep in their abandonment to grief, and his companion stood at a little distance silent and sympathetic.

The Muckwas in their huts heard the sound, but took no heed of it. Such sounds were no more to them than the cry of the sea-gull or the scream of the fishing-eagle.

Chapter XVI

Margery dressed for a walk, and while she made her preparations she wondered if she would be able to get away from the house unseen. Mrs. Jearsey was not troubled with curiosity as to the doings of others, but she had a trick of sending Margery with messages to her friends living within the Fort.

Piet, on the other hand, was not only inquisitive, but each day that passed he was making a greater claim on Margery’s time and attention. Hitherto he had not shown any jealousy; but during the last day or two she had fancied that he had been inclined to watch her, as she sat silent and thoughtful, as though he would read the secrets of her mind. It was all so indefinite that sometimes she laughed at her own suspicions. There were other moments when she felt sure that he was beginning to doubt her affection for him. He was slow in his anger, and up to the present she had never roused it. Some instinct made her shudder at the thought of giving him offence.

Margery went quietly downstairs and counted herself fortunate in leaving the house without notice. She turned towards the south and strolled along in the direction of the St. Thoma Gate. Except for the sentry, no one was in sight. The sun had touched the horizon; its golden lights were illuminating the buildings of the Fort. Soon the light would vanish, leaving the streets in twilight. She glanced back. No one was in sight; she had the place to herself, and advanced as if she intended to pass through the gate.

Creede watched her as she drew near, the blood leaping in his veins. He had hardly dared to believe that she would come.

“Have no fear, sweetheart!” he said softly as she came up with him beneath the arch of the gateway. “I have seen no one since the workmen left, but Mrs. Nicks and his Honour the President.”

“Did they take any notice of you?” she asked. She was never quite free from the fear lest the authorities should discover his identity.

“The President went outside to look at the building material. As soon as he was out of sight Mrs. Nicks spoke to me.” He told her of all that had passed, and how she seemed vexed with him for not having come ashore with Goodwyn at Cuddalore. “She knows all about me. I wonder what she has to say to me to-night.”

Meanwhile Creede was not a backward lover. He had drawn Margery close to his side with a strong arm and there he held her.

“It is probably some plan that she has in her mind for your escape,” suggested Margery as soon as she could pick up the thread of the conversation. “She will be able to help you if only she can take you to Cuddalore.”

“I might get away in a surf boat with the help of the fishermen.”

“Not at this season! Though the sea looks blue and fairly quiet the waves are big. It would take two or three days to get down as far as Cuddalore even in fine weather and with a fair wind.”

“An interloper’s wife must carry a brave heart, beloved,” he said.

“Hark! what is that?” cried Margery.

The sunlight had faded and darkness had crept over the buildings. Standing against the wall under the arch they were hidden from view. At the same time if they came out into the open, there was still light enough to distinguish Margery’s figure.

A wail of grief in the distance fell on their ears. It came from the river. Margery nestled in the sentry’s arms.

“It’s some poor fellow in trouble,” he said; but his thoughts were not with the sufferer. “Nothing to be afraid of, heart of my soul!”

Absorbed in themselves they gave no further thought to it. Another fifteen minutes flew by all too quickly for the lovers. Once or twice the sentry marched up and down, looked out towards the river and back again into the Fort. He was satisfied that he had the place to himself. He returned to Margery, who was standing near the wall.

“I must be going, George,” she whispered.

“Just two minutes more!” he pleaded.

The soft fall of naked feet upon the wooden bridge thrown over the moat startled them. Margery’s first impulse was to fly; her second was to remain within reach of the halberdier who could at least protect her.

She need not have been alarmed. The disturbers of their interview were only Solomon and his companion, returning for reasons of their own by the St. Thoma Gate. Margery recognized Solomon’s voice as he gave the reply to the challenge.

“It is the President’s servant,” she said,relieved of her fears.

“You had better walk home with him. It is growing dark,” said Creede. He called after the man, and bade him wait. “Good-bye, sweetheart, for the present. You will come into Bridger’s this evening after supper, won’t you?”

“If I can. It will depend on Piet. If he is there——”

“Oh, the devil take that Dutchman! I shall kill him before long.”

“And I shall die of a broken heart, of course!” she said with a laugh, as she hastened towards the two servants who were waiting for her at a little distance.

Their way lay up the St. Thoma Street and past Piet’s new house that was in course of building. In its present state it did not look inviting. The windows were boarded up and the walls were checked with scaffolding. The roof was on and a large heavy teak door closed the entrance. Margery had not yet been over her new home. Mrs. Jearsey had proposed that she and the girl should inspect it only a short time before, but Piet had not been encouraging. When his aunt pressed the matter, he asked her to wait until he had had the place cleaned up.

The twilight still lingered, and from the orange glow low down in the west came a faint illumination sufficient to allow Margery to see her way clearly. She could also distinguish the window in Piet’s house. In one of them the storm had loosened a board in the hoarding, leaving a black space. She noticed that both Solomon and the peon had their eyes fixed upon this space as they passed.

Something white and ghostlike seemed to hover in the dark patch just for a second. It might have been a dead leaf carried on the evening breeze, or a moth emerging from the interior. It was gone so swiftly that she began to doubt her own eyes.

Solomon and the peon drew together. Davie’s servant crossed himself. The peon who was a heathen put the palms of his hands together.

“What do you see?” asked Margery, pausing in her walk. The men did not reply. They quickened their steps and went ahead of her. She heard the peon say in his own language:

“It was the devil; he looked forth from the window. Evil will come of it. He has already plagued you; now he will plague the English missie, for it is to be her house.”

“Speak not so foolishly!” said Solomon with a glance at Margery, as she came up with them. The other refused to be silenced.

“The sacrifice will have to take place in the regular way or——”

He did not finish the sentence. Solomon made a sign to be silent. He knew that the English only laughed at the gods of the heathen. He was not sure if he held them in contempt himself. Being a Christian of the Portuguese Church he was taught to despise them. At the bottom of his heart he feared them, as being workers of evil that might not be trifled with.

Solomon saw his charge safely into her house. He told his companion to go on without him as he had business elsewhere. As soon as the peon had disappeared the bearer returned to the St. Thoma Gate. The sentry had lighted his oil lamp in the guard-room and again paced up and down in front of the gate.

The President’s servant slipped through the gateway. He was challenged in the usual way.

“I am not going on, sir. I only came to tell you that the missie is safe at home.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“No, sir. May I speak?”

“Say on,” replied Creede in English; he knew neither of the vernaculars.

Solomon took but a short time to make his request. It was granted with a friendly smile. All he wished to do was to come sometimes and sit at the gate. Also he wished to pass in and out without having attention called to the fact. Then he pointed to the Dutchman’s house.

“Have a care, sir. The devil walks in the new house. It has an evil eye and will bring bad luck to your Honour. Keep out of its sight.”

“You are free to come and go as you please, or to remain here if you wish. I am much obliged to you for your advice. I am not afraid of the devil.”

The man hurried away; it was time he took his place by the little master’s bed while the child was lying half-asleep and half-awake. It had been Mary’s work to watch till sleep came. Since her disappearance no one could please Davie but Solomon.

A little later the corporal appeared, closed the gate and guard-room and marched the recruit back to barracks, where he got rid of his heavy armour and halberd. His first day of soldiering had not been without its incidents, and he was tired from the unusual work and its tediousness.

Supper was served and he sat down with the rest of the men. Meat being cheap and plentiful there was a good supply of beef stew and boiled pork. He missed the turnips and carrots of England, but a big dish of country greens took the place of cabbage.

The men were in breeches and shirts. They ate their food off wooden trenchers, using black-handled knives and their fingers. Along the sides of the barrack-room were ranged the cots on which the soldiers slept. They were nothing but frames with a network of rope stretched across. The pillows were stuffed with coco-nut fibre and in place of mattresses the cots were covered with grass mats.

The men were coarse and illiterate. Most of them had begun life before the mast. Not one of them could write his name; the two or three who could spell out a verse in the Bible were looked upon as scholars by their fellows. The want of education did not interfere with their good spirits. Jokes flew across the trestle board, and the noisy laugh echoed from bench to bench.

Creede was sufficiently a man of the world to know how to take his place among them and to hide his fastidiousness. He joined heartily in the laugh even when it went against him; and he drank his tot of arrack with the rest as if he had been in the barrack-room all his life. The consequence was that after the few first hours had passed, and their curiosity was satisfied as to the character of their new comrade, they took no further notice of him.

The supper lasted only a short time. The platters and knives were washed and put away; and the men not on duty flung themselves on their cots and were soon asleep.

Creede found the barrack-room hot and close. He went out into the open air; the north-east breeze blew cool and fresh. He turned towards the guard-room, where Sergeant Ryan sat by a table poring over a book in the dim light of an oil lamp. He was studying Persian. He was one of those men who, failing to obtain permission to go to the East, had enlisted as a soldier. He hoped to be able to buy his discharge before long. He glanced up from his book as Creede entered.

“Can I have an hour’s leave, sir?”

“Not outside the barracks at this time of the night.”

“I mean within the Fort, sir.”

The sergeant looked at him in surprise.

“It is late for visiting in the Fort. People shut up their houses at nine o’clock. Whom do you want to see there?”

“I’ve been on duty all day, sir, and not able to go before. Mr. Bridger asked me to call as soon as I could get an hour’s leave. He was the gentleman who kindly took me in when I was so nearly drowned.”

While he spoke the gong sounded nine o’clock. The great iron-bound doors, armed with long spikes, were closed. The heavy bar clanged as it shot home into its socket, and they heard the click of the lock securing the bolt. A small manhole was opened in one of the doors through which the passengers passed until gunfire next morning. As the bolts were shot some one came up to the gate from within. His name was asked. Instead of giving the usual reply a complaining voice said in foreign accents:

“You are closing the gate too soon, at least five minutes too early. I shall report you to the President.”

The only answer was a second demand for his name. It was given with a bad grace.

“Vandenberg; and may the devil take you!”

Creede moved to the entrance of the guard-room so that he might see the Dutchman for himself. The two men stared at each other and Creede noticed that he carried a book under his arm that looked like a Bible.

Vandenberg flushed with the anger which was roused by the impertinence of a soldier’s stare. He was in an ill-humour, and the sight of Creede seemed to increase it. He cursed his presumption in his own tongue and strode on, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Creede turned back into the guard-room.

“Who was that?” asked Sergeant Ryan.

“The Dutch merchant Vandenberg.”

“Ah! he lives in the Blacktown. He usually goes out by the Choultry gate. He is later to-night than usual, so he had to come round this way.”

“Can I have leave, sir?”

His superior officer ran a critical eye over his well-set-up figure.

“If you were what you profess to be, an ordinary seaman or soldier, I should say no. I suppose you are following the same line I have adopted. It is getting increasingly difficult to obtain the discharge.”

“Is that so, sir? Then I am sorry to hear it. If I could be of any use——” Creede checked himself, laughing a little bitterly. He had forgotten that he had no longer any power as the successful Bristol merchant to help a fellowman. “I beg your pardon. I am only a common soldier myself. How can I be of use to a superior officer when I can’t help myself?”

The sergeant looked at him.

“I don’t forget that you have Bridger for a friend, one of the most influential of all the free merchants in the Fort. When he has assisted you, you can put in a word for me. My difficulty is money. I shall have to work off any debt I may contract.”

“Mine is opportunity,” answered Creede.

“Shall we agree to help each other? We are two strangers in this foreign land: Englishmen and therefore brothers.”

“A bargain!” said Creede quickly. “Here’s my hand on it!”

They shook hands and Creede hurried off in the direction of Bridger’s house.

Some one was listening for his footstep. There was a white skirt on the stairs as he entered the hall, and Margery was soon in his arms. All her fears had vanished. In the security of the dim light she was more alluring than ever.

“You kept the Dutchman late this evening,” he said with a touch of jealousy, wondering if she greeted his rival in a similar manner.

“Piet! He has not been near me all this evening. What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes searching his for an explanation. The mention of Piet made her nervous and apprehensive.

“He has only now passed out of the Middle Gate.”

“If he went out that way he has probably been to one of Mr. Elliot’s Bible classes. Was he carrying a book?”

“He was; and his Bible class hadn’t improved his temper. He is a surly brute.”

“I shouldn’t call him that, exactly. But don’t let us talk about Piet!” she said, clinging to his arm as they slowly mounted the stairs. “I hate the sound of his name. It reminds me of the task that is before me; a task I don’t relish,” she concluded. Stooping she kissed his shoulder as she walked by his side.

“It is for my sake, beloved,” he answered.

Margery stopped before they entered the room where Bridger and his wife sat.

“Remember that we are only acquaintances here,” she said.

“There is no law forbidding an Englishman to admire an Englishwoman when he sees one,” he replied, laughing happily. “Nor is there any commandment against kissing one when opportunity offers.”

It took a long time to get to the top of the stairs. When they at last reached the landing, Margery said:

“We are using the back parlour to-night, because the window looks into the garden, and our lights cannot be seen from the street.”

She turned the handle and ushered him in. He glanced round the room as Bridger came forward and greeted him warmly.

After Creede had spoken to Mrs. Bridger he found himself talking to Mrs. Nicks. With a twinkle of merriment in her eye she led him up to Goodwyn.

“Allow me to present John Mitchell to you,” she said. “Do you know him by any chance?”

“The Governor asked me the same question in the council chamber. It was fortunate that he did not name George Creede instead. My reply would not have been so easy nor so simple,” he answered with a hearty laugh.

Chapter XVII

There was no council meeting on Wednesday morning; but the usual daily prayer was said in the church. The service was held by the express command of the Directors; and all in their employment were expected to attend, unless they could give a good reason for their absence.

After service the little congregation adjourned to the market place and the parade ground. Yale made his way to Captain Bett’s house, where he had an appointment with the veteran officer. They passed through the office. A sergeant stood waiting till Bett was at liberty to speak to him. The Commandant returned his salute and passed on into his private sitting-room.

Yale plunged at once into the business he had on hand, and talked for some time about the defences of the Fort. He was anxious to wall in the Blacktown on the land side. It would be an expensive undertaking, and would mean a much larger garrison with more guns. The scheme did not meet with the approval of the council for that very reason. They knew too well the Directors’ disinclination to spend money on fortifications. The council held that it would be wiser as well as more economical to concentrate their attention on the defences of the Fort, and reserve their money for that purpose.

Yale was not satisfied to leave the Blacktown to its fate. He felt that the safety of the English depended quite as much on the preservation of the Blacktown as of the Whitetown, as the Fort was called by the natives. The English colony looked to the natives for their food supply of meat, grain and vegetables as well as their trade in country goods.

He had seen in former years how the Mahrattas under Sivajee had disorganized the markets and terrified the natives. The Moghul with his still more numerous hordes might do the same or even worse. It was possible that the invaders might disperse or kill the whole of the Blacktown inhabitants.

On the approach of a large hostile force the weavers and agriculturists buried their valuables and fled southwards with their women and children. The markets were deserted; food, firewood, salt were not procurable. Yale, like Sir Streynsham Master, saw farther ahead than his short-sighted council and longed to make the position of the English as secure as was possible.

The next subject to be discussed was the garrison. The Directors had promised to dispatch more men, but they had not arrived.

“How are you off for able-bodied troops, such as we could put into the field if necessary?” he asked.

“Badly, sir, very badly.”

“Any more on the sick list?”

“No, sir; and the last three that went sick have returned to duty. It was the poisonous arrack that they got in the bazaar that laid them up.”

“The council has been asked to send half a dozen men to Sumatra; and Nicks wants two or three at Cuddalore; more if the Moghul comes farther south. What are we to do?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Bett. “I wish I could get a score of Englishmen like the last joined, that young man calling himself John Mitchell.”

“Ah! yes; the castaway from the Borneo.”

“That’s as it may be,” replied Captain Bett with the air of one who knew more than he meant to tell. “It doesn’t matter where he came from; he is the kind of soldier we want. My fear is that we shall not be able to keep him. He’s just the kind that gets himself bought off. I’ll wager he wasn’t born to the sea, nor to the barrack-room. We shall have one of these free merchants coming forward with the money for his discharge before long.”

“It may not be granted,” observed Yale.

“Sooner or later it’s bound to come. I have been in the garrison for more than a quarter of a century and I’ve seen it over and over again. It is always the same tale. First a clerk in the office of the merchant who has bought him off. Then a supercargo on one of the ships in the coasting trade. Lastly a partner; and if there’s a girl in the family, son-in-law as well.”

Yale was busy with his own thoughts as the old man ran on with a tale that was perfectly familiar. The President himself had seen it repeated with and without the last contingent more than once.

“Have you any doubt about Mitchell being one of the Borneo men?”

“More than a doubt, sir. I know that he was never aboard the Borneo. But as far as I am concerned it is of no consequence where he came from. He has the making of a good soldier in him, and that’s what I look for. I reckon on seeing him a sergeant before long like that other fellow Ryan, waiting in the office. He came out as a private. I soon found that he had good stuff in him and promoted him.”

“Mitchell says that he was one of the crew of the Borneo; his name is down on the list. I have a reason for wishing to know the truth of his statement. What evidence have you to the contrary?”

“The evidence of one of the crew. The surgeon’s mate of the Borneo happened to be ashore at the time of the storm; a lucky accident for him, for it was the saving of his life.”

“Why didn’t he report himself?” asked the President.

“For the very good reason that he wasn’t able to do so. The rascal was lying drunk in a ’rack house in the Blacktown.”

“It is rather a serious charge to make against Mitchell,” observed Yale. “Can you depend on the surgeon mate’s word?”

“As far as Mitchell is concerned we can, now that the surgeon’s mate is sober. The mate would have no object in suppressing the truth; whereas Mitchell probably has a very strong reason for doing so. I tested Mitchell’s knowledge without his being aware of what I was doing. I found that he didn’t know the mate from Adam. The mate says that just before he came ashore the real John Mitchell had an accident which lamed him badly and laid him up. He came ashore on purpose to ask for some salves from the Fort doctor for the injured man. The wind was rising on Saturday night, and the temptation of the ’rack house was great; so he stayed ashore. He declares that the real Mitchell couldn’t have saved himself as this fellow did.”

“How could the present John Mitchell have known that he was like the man on the roll of the Borneo? It could not have been a chance guess.”

“Some one in the Fort put him up to it for reasons best known to himself. The fact is the man is here without leave, and he has friends who will help him to get a licence and start as a free trader.”

“Does the stranger know about the surgeon’s mate?”

“No, sir. I managed a meeting without Mitchell knowing anything at all about it. I didn’t want to frighten my man away. The mate will keep dark because he hasn’t reported himself yet. His story will be that he swam ashore and has been too ill to let the council know that he escaped with his life.”

The irregularities of a defaulting assistant-surgeon did not occupy the President’s mind. His thoughts were focussed on the man calling himself Mitchell. If he was not one of the Borneo’s crew and did not belong to the Raven, where did he come from?

“There were two other ships that went down at the same time as the Borneo. They were coasting vessels. Can you find out what their names were, Captain Bett?” asked Yale.

The Fort in those days were not policed by the kind of men known at the present time as the guardians of law and order. It had its watchmen; they were drawn from the natives and had very little real authority. It was to Captain Bett and his company of soldiers that the residents of the Fort looked for the maintenance of order. Bett prided himself on this part of his work, which he did well. The request of the Governor to give him what information he could about the nameless coasters pleased him, and he answered with alacrity.

“Certainly, sir. I will also make inquiries about the owners of the ships. From what I have already gathered it seems probable that they belonged to some Portuguese merchants living in St. Thoma.”

“Have you been able to discover anything about the slaves who were drowned?”

“They belonged to this coast. Two of them were from the Blacktown. Three more bodies were washed ashore south of St. Thoma.”

“Was it Gomez, the Portuguese, with whom Captain Goodwyn was staying?” asked Yale.

“I think not, sir. I have seen Gomez, and I am convinced that neither he nor Goodwyn had anything to do with it.”

“Where do you think the slaves were shipped?”

“Either at Ennore, to the north of us; or at the mouth of the St. Thoma River.”

“Have you any proof?”

“Not yet; I have a strong suspicion that in all these cases the men are caught and carried along the beach by a gang of their own colour. They are smuggled into surf boats at night and rowed to a coaster that is off before dawn.”

“How could they be carried away without being seen?” asked Yale.

“It can be done in baskets. The men are gagged, I take it, and bound. They may even be drugged. They are laid inside these large hen-coop baskets used for carrying fowls and other things to market. Trust these crafty black rascals to find a means of doing a thing if they have set their minds to it!”

Bett seemed very sure of himself, but Yale was not convinced. Bett always professed to know more than other people; but the President remembered that he had not always been infallible in the past.

“Then you don’t think Gomez had a hand in it?”

“I feel certain that he is as innocent of it as I am. He is one of those poor-spirited half-bred Portuguese fellows, cunning enough in interloping but without the courage to engage in a trade where his neck would be in danger.”

“Is it done by the Moormen?”

“No; it’s the work of a European or a Jew; but I can’t lay my hand on him yet. Probably he was drowned with his living cargo. If so it was the best ending he could have had, save the gallows.”

Yale shook his head in dissent, as he reminded Bett that he had lost the ayah belonging specially to his little boy, since the storm.

“I’m afraid the villain is still at large and carrying on his evil trade in spite of us!” he said.

“Ah! I forgot her. You did well, sir, to bring her to my mind.”

“Did she ever come into the Fort that night?”

“I can’t be certain. My men at the gates would have no object in deceiving me. The man who was in charge of the gate on the west wall feels sure that he saw a woman of her description turn off by the path between the river and the garden walls on that side. The natives all look more or less alike and the women have a trick of drawing the end of the cloth over their heads. It is impossible to recognize their dark features in the twilight.”

“What men had you on duty that night?”

“They happened to be my oldest soldiers whom I’ve had in the garrison for years; quiet steady men with wives and families in the Blacktown.”

“Have you examined the river bank where the toys were found?”

“Yes; and I’ve been all round the walls myself to look for a place where a woman might have been thrown or pushed over. I can’t find any. There is only one weak place in the Fort where it would be possible to get out without being seen by the sentry; and that is on the west side where the gardens run down towards the river. Those garden walls are not sufficient protection nowadays; though they might have done well enough when the first settlers started to build this place nearly fifty years ago.”

“We have already done away with some of them and begun a curtain wall along that side,” remarked Yale.

“Aye, but Jearsey’s house and garden remain the same; and Bridger’s next door, also. Jearsey’s was one of the first ever built. It was put up by Henry Greenhill. He was just before my time.”

Bett had a weakness for reminiscing. He claimed to be one of the oldest inhabitants then living within the Fort. He had been in touch with most of the original settlers, having known the place within twenty years of its foundations. Yale heard what he said; but he was thinking of the present and not of the past.

“We must do something soon to carry the west curtain all along that side. I suppose it will mean compensation, as in the case of Clarke and others.”

“It will in Jearsey’s case, because of the landing-stage. His back garden is a regular shipping yard; and there is a sally-port, as you know, sir, in his garden wall that opens on to the little wharf. It is fastened with a strong lock and the key is kept in Jearsey’s office.”

“He is a man against whom there is no suspicion of irregular trading whatever,” said Yale decisively.

“All the same I can tell you, sir, that on the night the wench was missed, a boat was taken to Jearsey’s door. It stopped there and came back up the north arm of the river into the Blacktown.”

“He might have been a Muckwa, fishing at night,” said Yale. “How did you hear of it?”

“In the usual way; from one of the slaves. The worst of it is that the rascals will tell you lies just as soon as they will tell the truth.”

“Was it one of Jearsey’s servants who gave you the information?”

“No; it was a man belonging to some one living in the Blacktown.”

“What was he doing outside the Fort at that time of night? Up to no good, I should say,” remarked Yale.

“He says that he was on his way home after having been with a friend. He made no secret of it and told me all about the woman. I have been down to the river myself and examined the banks. I found the fresh marks of a big European shoe. In my opinion that was the man who was in the boat. There is no doubt that he went into Jearsey’s garden through the sally-port and came out again. The footsteps went both ways. He may have been there some time during the day on Jearsey’s business; but Jearsey himself told me that he had not had occasion to use the door for the last ten days.”

Yale made no comment. He had seen the marks when he went to look at the spot where the toys were found. At the time he did not connect the footsteps with the loss of his servant. In addition to the man’s shoe he had noticed the impress of a smaller shoe that could only have belonged to a woman.

“Did you let Jearsey know why you asked about it?”

“No; I put the question in an offhand way so as to avoid rousing his suspicions. He would bluster and kick up a row if he thought anyone made use of his sally-port without his knowledge. I am having the sally-port watched, and I hope to catch the visitor next time he uses the door. There is one point on which I am puzzled,” concluded Bett with his brows knitted.

“What is that?” asked Yale, on whose face was a gathering anxiety. A dark suspicion that had troubled him more than once had arisen again as Bett talked, and was making its voice to be heard.

“There was the mark of a woman’s shoe with those of the man’s. How it got there I am at a loss to understand. No lady in the Fort would have her hand in such an affair. I suppose the missing girl was not wearing an old pair of her mistress’s shoes by any chance. It is impossible to believe——”

Bett looked at the President; he did not finish the sentence. Yale, whose face was a shade paler, replied quickly with a touch of impatience he could not hide:

“You must be mistaken, Bett, about the footmarks. I am sure Mary was not wearing shoes. In any case they would have been sandals and not European shoes. You say that you believe the slaves are shipped at St. Thoma at the entrance of the river and by a European,” he said, strangely anxious to get away from the subject of the footmarks in the mud.

“—with the assistance of a gang of natives. I firmly believe also that the trade is being carried on under our very noses.”

“Have you any suspicion as to the man?”

There was a slight pause before Bett answered in the negative.

“None whatever. I am as much at a loss to guess as you are, sir.”

“Perhaps more so,” thought the President, as the black suspicion again thrust itself into his mind that Kitty and Goodwyn might be indirectly involved. After a moody silence he said:

“You believe that Captain Goodwyn is not the guilty party?”

“I feel sure that he has no hand in it. I was talking to the Sea-customer about it. It is common news that the bodies were washed ashore with a bit of sail-cloth belonging to the Raven wrapped round them. He told me that just before the storm, when the Raven was lying at her moorings in the roads, he was aboard himself. He wasn’t quite satisfied about the dues Bridger had paid on the goods he shipped. He went all over the vessel with the chief mate; and there was no place where men could have been stowed away without their presence being detected. You can bind the legs and arms of a slave, but you can’t bind his throat. He says he must have heard them wailing and groaning as those fellows do when they are in the least trouble. I have known Goodwyn since he was a lad, and though it is likely enough he would do a bit of interloping where he had the chance, he is not the man to make money in human flesh.”

“If he is innocent we really need not detain him any longer,” said Yale.

“No; let him go, sir. He is best out of the Fort. The very sight of him is a temptation to the free merchants. Let him find his way back to Bristol as best he can. You don’t want to give him one of the Company’s ships?”

“Certainly not! The council wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Then, sir, speed his parting; he is an unprofitable guest to the Company.”

“This new recruit, John Mitchell as I suppose we must continue to call him: Has he had anything to do with the slave trading? “ asked Yale.

“I shouldn’t like to say,” replied Bett slowly. “It’s a very serious charge to bring against a man. From what I have seen of him I should say not.”

“Would he do for Cuddalore?”

Bett rose from his seat and went to the door to call the sergeant, who was waiting in the office. Ryan came in and stood at attention.

“Tell his Honour what you think of Mitchell, the new recruit.”

“He is a quiet, steady and obedient man, sir. If I might venture to say so, he is not of the usual type of the soldier,” replied the sergeant.

“What would you say to his being sent to Cuddalore?” asked Bett.

The sergeant did not immediately reply.

“We want men like him here, sir. On the other hand, there might be a difficulty in the barracks if the men suspected that he was different from themselves. These rough fellows are unfriendly to those who are not of their own class.”

“We might make him a corporal; but he must have experience first and learn his drill,” said Bett.

“Is Mitchell inclined to quarrel?” asked Yale.

“No, sir,” replied the sergeant instantly. “It would be the other men who would make the trouble as soon as they are in drink.”

“You can go,” said Yale. The sergeant saluted and returned to the office. “We will send him to Cuddalore for a short time. We can recall him if we want him here. Meanwhile he can learn his work under the sergeant in charge of the men at Cuddalore. Good morning, Bett, I’m afraid I’ve taken a good deal of your time; but we had several matters to discuss.”

Chapter XVIII

Yale left Bett’s house and walked to the Sea Gate, where the merchants were assembled. He had much to occupy him till it was time to return home. Buyers and sellers found plenty of excitement in their occupation. The European merchants in the Company’s service wrote long letters to the Board of Directors detailing their transactions and naming the different goods they bought. At the present time these letters have an antiquarian interest for students of social history. Otherwise they are dull and unattractive. It is only when the modern reader finds the record of the loss of the Borneo, and other incidents that affected the lives of the residents, that the attention is held. The human side of the life of those days peeps out, and the dull machinery of the Company’s trade disappears.

In those days the President of the council and Governor of Fort St. George, as he was rather pompously called, represented only a community of private merchants. In these days the title is much the same, but the person who holds it represents no less than the King and the British nation. He is virtually an assistant viceroy. Honour is paid to him as if he were the King himself, and he receives it on behalf of his sovereign.

Yale moved about among the merchants as one of them. The only thing that marked him from the rest was the attendance of two guards in the Company’s uniform. Other merchants had their attendants, some of them in a uniform that differed from that used by the Company. Others again had no servants with them. They preferred to be alone and unattended.

As Yale reached the door of his house he caught sight of his wife returning from market. The President’s wife in those days claimed none of her husband’s honours and assumed no state when she went abroad. She joined the ladies in the market and did her shopping with the rest. When it was time to return she sauntered back with a neighbour, chatting of household affairs. One boon she enjoyed as the wife of the Governor. In the hot season she was able to move to the cooler house that had lately been built on the banks of the river a little way inland. The house was called the Company’s garden house. There were rooms in it that were put at the service of those who were out of health; and near it was a physic garden where herbs were grown for making infusions, cooling mixtures and other concoctions popular at the time. The hot weather being past, Mrs. Yale had returned to her own comfortable house in Middle Street.

To-day Kitty Nicks was her companion. At the sight of Kitty, Yale stopped and waited until she came up.

“I have been looking for you, Elihu,” said Mrs. Nicks. “You were not on the parade nor in the market.”

“I was with Captain Bett. What did you want me for?”

He looked grave and she wondered what was in his mind. She had too much tact to ask. She answered his question lightly.

“Nothing very serious. I have a request to make. Will you allow Captain Goodwyn to come with me to Cuddalore?”

“As your guest or as the guest of the Company?”

“As my guest. Perhaps, as he is to be my guest, I need not have asked your leave,” she remarked.

“How can you entertain him except on the Company’s premises?”

“I have rented a house near the river from a rice merchant. I can lend the house to whomsoever I please.”

The toss upwards of the chin warned him that she was on the edge of the war-path if she had not actually started upon it. The sight of the firmly closed mouth and brilliant eyes that looked at him from beneath her hood, made him take a sudden determination.

“Come into my room, Kitty. I want to have a talk with you,” he said.

She laughed and glanced at Mrs. Yale in pretended dismay.

“Another lecture!” she cried. “On my life, another scolding for poor Kitty. Oh, a plague on this President!”

She followed in spite of her protest, while Mrs. Yale passed on to her own room. The latter had no interest in her friend’s ventures and speculations. Her mind was given entirely to her children, her house and her husband. Their comfort came before all else.

“Sit down, Kitty,” said Yale, as he closed the door of his sitting-room. “You are not in a hurry to get home, as you have no household duties here.”

He gave her a chair and seated himself near her. He watched her as she loosened the strings of her hood and removed it carefully so as not to disarrange the brown curls pinned closely to her head. It was not a pleasant task which he had taken upon himself; but he could not bear the suspense any longer. There were certain questions he must ask and she alone could answer.

“You know what Captain Goodwyn has been suspected of?” he said.

“Oh yes, I know!” she said, her feathers ruffling at once as she prepared to do battle for her friend. “He is suspected of slave-trading of all things! He is very angry. It is ridiculous in the eyes of all who know him. He is not the sort of man to have anything to do with such a business. It is not in his line.”

“Then you think that he is innocent.”

He was watching her closely and she knew it. It did not tend to allay her irritation.

“I am certain of it.” She turned on him with rising temper. “Elihu, I think you are taking leave of your senses over this business! Tell me honestly what is at the bottom of your mind. Do you believe otherwise?”

“I am of your opinion,” he said slowly and deliberately.

“In that case there is no need to detain him here at the Fort as he tells me you have done.”

“None; but it rests with the council to give him leave to go.”

“Then I may conclude that he is free to escort me to Cuddalore. I shall be glad to have his company.”

“Wait a moment, Kitty, before you take it for granted that you are allowed to entertain a guest at Cuddalore.”

He spoke gently, but he noted the colour mounting in her cheeks.

“Am I then to ask the permission of the President and council before I invite anyone to my house?”

“We all of us ask leave when it is not a servant of the Company,” he replied quietly.

“Of course you do, because you are living in a building belonging to the Company. The council need not be afraid. Goodwyn will not enter their doors. He will occupy a house built on ground belonging to a native ruler. The only person who will have any right to object to his presence will be the Rajah. I know he won’t oppose it; he is my friend. This being so, it is no further business of yours, Mr. President.”

“I only want to prevent you from giving unnecessary offence to the council,” said Yale with a gentleness under which she softened at once.

“Yes, yes; I know, Elihu!” she said with quick repentance. “You only want to save me from my own rashness. You were always a good friend, better than I deserve. Please forgive my impatience.”

“There is one thing I want you to tell me,” he said, and then paused as though his courage failed him.

His diffidence put her on her guard again. “Yes?”

The little monosyllable came out with a sharp query in its note. She waited with eyes that shone partly in defiance although they were not devoid of the kindliness born of her softer mood. She was at the moment a strange mixture of the merchant and the woman. Her trading instinct prompted a jealous reserve and antagonism to the representative of the Directors. On the other hand, she was tempted to show some of the old confidence which marked the long years of friendship during their exile in a foreign land. Seeing that he remained silent she said:

“What is it, Elihu?”

The words were softer than the harsh monosyllable that had fallen from her lips. They encouraged him to speak.

“Kitty, tell me what it was you really shipped with Goodwyn or with anyone else as bales of Gingee silk. I know that there is no such stuff in the market, and the name is only cover for something else.”

A laugh of relief was the answer she gave. His seriousness had actually alarmed her.

“Oh, you silly old President!” she cried as she recovered herself. “Do you think that I am going to let you into my little trade secrets? to confess to you, of all people, what I am doing? You, the President of the council!”

There was no answering smile on his face as he gazed at her with eyes that were full of anxiety.

“Did you ship bales of Gingee silk by any other vessel?”

“And what if I did, sir?”

“And your ship went to the bottom alongside of Captain Goodwyn’s with its cargo of Gingee silk?”

She did not yet see the drift of his catechizing, nor to what his questions were pointing. A teasing spirit possessed her and she replied saucily:

“It was my loss and not the Company’s. So, sir, what can it matter to you? I have more ships and more bales of Gingee silk for them to carry.”

His persistence was not to be checked; yet she did not like parting with her secret.

“What do you think they were?”

He hesitated, and his grave eyes looked into hers with trouble and anxiety in their depths. His voice was low, but when he spoke each word fell with terrible distinctness on her ear.

“Were they slaves?”

With a cry of horror she rose from her chair and shrank back, as if to put a greater distance between herself and one who had mortally offended her. Too late he knew that his dark suspicions were without foundation. He had not only given her a shock, but he had caused her pain.

“Elihu! Is it possible that you can think so badly of an old friend? I may sin against the Directors, but not against my God. You! You of all people! you who have known me from my girlhood, you to think this of me, and accuse me of such a crime! It is monstrous! cruel!”

She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears while Yale stood by, overwhelmed with distress.

“Forgive me, Kitty!” he repeated more than once.

The storm he had raised was not so easily allayed. She scarcely heard his entreaty for pardon. Lifting a tear-bedewed face she said vehemently:

“You don’t understand! You never have understood! Can’t you see that with all my trading I am honest enough in the sight of God? My husband gives himself body and soul to the interests of the Directors. He is not like some of his brother merchants, devoting only half his time to his employers’ business and using the other half for himself. He gives his best and his all ungrudgingly. I, his helpmeet and his wife, work for the children. I do what the other servants of the Company do for themselves at the expense of their employers. We are honest compared with some I could mention. Because I work for my husband you distrust me, and believe me capable of any wickedness.”

She spoke passionately and her words smote him. He was not a man who would willingly hurt the smallest of creatures; but his zeal and his quick Celtic temper combined led him to say and do things that he afterwards repented. Ever since he had seen the four dead bodies lying on the beach, he had been haunted by a horrible dread lest his old friend with her insatiable love of trade should have been led directly or indirectly into this particular traffic. All through her tirade against him and his council he was conscious of a sense of relief, intense relief.

“Pardon me, Kitty; forgive me! I have deceived myself. I am very much to blame for harbouring such a suspicion. Forget what I have said.”

“I cannot forget, nor can I let it drop. Whether you wish it or not, you must hear me out. You must know what it was that I shipped.”

She was walking up and down the room, her hands interlocked, her handkerchief twisted in her fingers. Her voice trembled and was difficult to control after her fit of weeping.

“I would rather not know,” said Yale, who stood near the chair from which he had risen in his agitation. “As long as it was not that, what does it matter what you shipped?”

Her eyes flashed at him through tears that had not had time to dry. No! He should not get out of it like that. She would tell him everything and clear her name!

“You shall know all; it shall be the penalty of your cruelty to listen. If you don’t approve, the fault is yours, not mine. The country ship that was lost with the Raven was not mine. I don’t know its name nor who was the owner. My goods were on board the Raven. I paid no dues on them because in the first place they were not intended for England direct, but for Trincomalee, and no dues were necessary. In the second place they are not on the Company’s list of monopolies. On the contrary, the goods were offered some time ago as Gingee cotton silks and they were refused as worthless for the European market.”

“If worthless, why did you buy them?” asked Yale, his interest thoroughly roused.

“I found that the stuff was of excellent quality in the main. It was far too narrow and the thread was not sufficiently cleansed. I went to the villages near Gingee where they were making it and showed the weavers how to spin a better thread of finer quality. Then I made them widen their looms. After the stuff was woven I showed them how to bleach it. And now I believe that I have a material which will become the rage for children’s underclothing as soon as it is known. It is white, not black, soft and fine as China silk.”

“Why didn’t you offer it to us, Kitty?”

“Not I! I should at once have been forbidden to deal in it; and dues would have been claimed on all the stuff that I have already sent home. Your council don’t love me. They would gladly have seized an opportunity of making a case out against me. Oh, I know them!”

Yale thought of Higgenson and was silent.

“I sent the bales to Trincomalee to be sold to the Dutch, who bought greedily. With the money Captain Goodwyn was buying cinnamon for me which he offered to the English Company; if they refused it, he was to carry it to Europe direct. There is a demand for it in the French ports, where it is bought by the makers of cordials. None of my cinnamon was intended for the English market.”

Even though he knew her so intimately, he could not help being astonished at the intricacies of her dealings.

“Cinnamon!” he repeated. “How do you manage to get it? The Dutch claim a monopoly of it and we cannot secure anything like the quantity that the Directors ask for.”

She smiled at his eagerness to probe her secrets.

“I am speaking to Elihu Yale now, and not the President of the council. I take you into my confidence, and if you like I will take you into partnership. But none of my experience is to be given to the council.”

“It is very good of you to make the offer; but I am afraid I should only be a hindrance,” he replied.

“Probably; or we should quarrel. A woman’s wit goes farther than a man’s strength where trading is concerned. I have an Armenian ship with an Armenian commander in my service. He calls at the little Singhalese ports round the south coast of the Island and picks up cinnamon and other spices, cardamoms, nutmegs, mace and pepper from the natives, paying them with calico that he has from me. They are very keen to get the dark blue and brown and buff cloths that are to be had in Burmah. I send the cotton cloths across to be printed and dyed the exact patterns that are wanted.”

Yale gazed at her as she talked. He was filled with amazement at her resource and ingenuity. She seemed to have solved the secret of successful commerce by the simple process of bringing the right goods to the right market, instead of trying to force on the people goods that they did not fancy.

“Kitty! You ought to have a licence and then all this would be perfectly legitimate,” he said.

She turned on him with a stamp of her small foot. Her breath came quickly and the snowy muslin cross-over upon her neck rose and fell. Her cheeks were flushed with the varying emotions of the last half-hour, and her eyes shone with the fire of independence.

“It is legitimate without a licence. I refuse to receive one and I deny the necessity for a licence. If you gave it to me to-morrow I would tear it in pieces. As a woman the Directors scorn and persecute me. As a woman I defy them!”

“Who of us would ever have thought of teaching the weavers to spin and weave; or the dyers to dye or to improve any of their craft? We have just taken or rejected what was brought, without giving the matter further attention.” His voice softened as he said: “Kitty, have you forgiven your old friend?”

“Yes, Elihu,” she replied, catching her breath in a little sigh. “I am glad you spoke.”

“I am sorry from the bottom of my heart,” he said quickly.

“It was better than carrying that dark suspicion in your mind, though it hurt me very much when you said it.”

“You are sure you forgive me,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

The colour flew to her cheeks once more. This time it was not sent there by anger.

“It is all right between us now, old friend. You are satisfied that you know all there is to be known?” she replied, smiling at him once more.

“There is still one more question I want to ask, if I may,” said Yale, “You seem to have an acquaintance with the man John Mitchell. Has he ever served you in any way?”

“Never,” she answered readily.

“He has never called in at Cuddalore in command of a coaster?”

“No; and what is more I never saw him till he was brought into the Fort more dead than alive, a perfect stranger. That good Samaritan, Bridger, took him in, but I did not know him until I spoke to him at the St. Thoma Gate when I asked him his name.”

He noted that she did not refer to the subject of reinforcing the garrison at Cuddalore, and concluded that her request to have Mitchell sent there was a passing whim which she had forgotten.

“I have mentioned your request to Bett about Mitchell. He seems inclined to let him go to Cuddalore.”

Kitty looked at the President and began to put on her hood.

“I’m not sure that I want the man. You are all so suspicious. Send him or keep him just as you please, and write your directions to my husband. Good-bye; I must be off.”

She turned away to leave the room.

“One moment,” said Yale. “I think Bett will send Mitchell for a short while. We can recall him at any time.”

“As you please! as you please!” she cried as she ran down the stairs and out into the street, where she sought the shady wall.

Margery was listening for Mrs. Nicks’s return. Piet had come and was intending to stay to the midday meal. It was not easy to get away from him. She found means to escape for five minutes and ran to Kitty’s room.

“What luck had you, Mrs. Nicks?” she asked.

“The best of luck as far as I can see. Cheer up, Margery,” replied Kitty. “You must be very careful. The President is terribly suspicious of everybody. I had to pretend this morning that I didn’t care a pin whether he sent John Mitchell to Cuddalore or not.”

“Will he let him go?” asked Margery, almost breathless with anxiety.

“I think so. He says it is to be for a short time. We shall see.”

“And how will he manage to escape?”

“All in good time, my dear! First let us get him to Cuddalore.”

“And then?”

“A thousand accidents may happen. If the worst comes to the worst——” Mrs. Nicks looked at Margery with mischief in her eye.

“Yes; what then?” asked the girl with round anxious eyes.

“—we must kill him!”

“Oh, Mrs. Nicks! What do you mean?”

“We must kill him with cholera or a fever; or he must drown in the river; or be carried away to Gingee and imprisoned. There are plenty of means of killing a nice healthy young fellow like Mitchell.”

“And if he died what should I do?” cried Margery, who did not yet read between the lines of Mrs. Nicks’s enigma.

“Come to Cuddalore and die too, on board one of my ships bound for Trincomalee, where for a consideration a Dutch ship will take Mr. and Mrs. John Mitchell home as far as Amsterdam.”

Margery clasped her hands in a whirlwind of joy. A voice called her name on the upper landing. Mrs. Nicks seized her as the girl rose with habitual obedience to go.

“No, miss, you don’t go to Piet with that joy written over your face. It would rouse his suspicions at once. Remember that before anything can be done you have got to break with him; and it is my opinion you are going to have a very bad time, not only with Piet but also with his uncle and aunt.”

Kitty’s words acted like a cold douche as she intended they should; and it was a sobered Margery who went slowly to answer Piet’s call.

Chapter XIX

Margery and Piet faced each other in the parlour of Jearsey’s house. She was pale, and there were traces of tears upon her cheeks. She had just informed him that she could not fulfil her engagement. She had spoken nervously and sometimes not quite coherently. She conveyed her meaning, however, and had just come to the end of all that she had to say.

He had received the news in dead silence and he stood now with bent head, a dull flash suffusing his usual pallid countenance. Occasionally Margery found courage enough to look at him. He avoided her eye and gave no sign of what he felt. She was beginning to wonder if he was hurt.

“I am very sorry, Piet. I know I am to blame; but I cannot—I really cannot marry you,” she repeated for the third or fourth time.

Still he did not speak, and his silence disturbed her. She had been prepared for reproaches and wild entreaties to reconsider her determination. She would not have been astonished if he had poured out abuse with his reproaches. Silence she did not understand; it alarmed her.

“You must forgive me; I have treated you badly, but I should be treating you a thousand times worse if I married you without loving you. I ought never to have given you the promise, but when you asked me your aunt seemed so anxious I should say yes that I consented, thinking love might come.”

“So it has, but not for me. Some one, whoever it may be, has stolen your love,” he said, speaking for the first time. His voice was low and thick with inward rage. She blushed scarlet at the accusation and threw a frightened glance at him, which fortunately he did not see as he kept his eyes on the ground.

“I—I am not going to marry anyone else,” she said haltingly. “I don’t know what Mr. Jearsey will say. Perhaps he and Mrs. Jearsey will be angry and turn me out of doors.”

“You need not fear anything of the kind, Margery,” replied Vandenberg with some dignity. “I can fight my own battles single-handed. I shall not ask my uncle to take my part. Are you quite sure that you cannot love me? I can wait.”

He looked up at her for almost the first time since she had spoken the fatal words. She shrank from the fire of his gaze. His eyes seemed to devour her. There was something indefinable in their expression that made her tremble. She shook her head and answered:

“No, Piet. Do not hope for the impossible. I can never love you, never.”

At her vehement words his eyelids drooped and hid the only expressive feature of his face.

“I will wait and be patient,” he said. “You have spoken hastily and without consideration. I cannot believe that you have no love for me after all we have been to each other lately.”

“Please don’t deceive yourself. It will come so much harder on you by and by. I want you to understand that I have never loved you from the very beginning. It was nothing more than friendly liking—which is not enough to marry on.”

He took no notice of the interruption, but continued in a level tone of voice which hid a depth of passion totally unsuspected by Margery.

“This fancy of yours will pass. By and by you will look upon me with favour again. The Lord forsakes the wicked and delivers them into the hands of the just.”

“Preaching again, eh, Piet? An odd way of courting in my life!” said Jearsey’s voice behind the disconcerted lover. Margery welcomed his presence, if Piet did not, as it must put an end to an interview which was becoming intolerable to her. Jearsey looked from one to the other and divined that something had gone amiss between them. “Hallo! what’s the matter, young people?” he asked with some curiosity.

“Margery has just told me that she will not marry me,” said Piet.

Jearsey opened his eyes in astonishment.

“Oh, so that’s it! The usual way with the women.” He laughed, as though on the whole it was a joke instead of a tragedy. “Well! It’s better to find out the mistake now while there is time to remedy it, than to wait till it’s past mending. Cheer up, both of you. Look at me, lad! I was jilted. Do I look as if I were the worse for it?”

Again he laughed, and this time more heartily; and he clapped his nephew on the back to comfort him.

“I am afraid you will never forgive me, Mr. Jearsey. It seems so ungrateful after all your kindness,” said Margery, her tears again overflowing.

“Say nothing about it, my dear. You are welcome to stay in my house as long as you please,” said the good-hearted free merchant, who was attached to his old friend’s daughter. Jearsey had no daughter of his own.

Margery thanked him warmly as she dried her eyes.

“Don’t cry; there’s a good girl. I hate to see anyone in distress. Stay on and see Piet recover himself. He can do that and transfer his affection as well, if I may judge by my own experience. But he need not quote Scripture or preach while he does it. Run away, child. Go and see Mrs. Nicks, the most cheerful person we have in the Fort. She will console you and make you feel happier.”

As Margery departed Jearsey turned to his nephew.

“I’m sorry, Piet, very sorry; but if the maid is that way inclined for heaven’s sake let her go, and thank God that you have found out the state of her mind before it is too late. I came to talk business; about the completion of your house.”

“My house! What good is a house to me now when I have no bride to put in it?” said Piet sullenly.

“Tut tut, lad, the bride will be found, you may be sure, when the house is ready! If you had got on a little faster with it, you might have been married by this time and saved all this trouble. You gave her time to cool; a mistake, boy; a mistake! You should have married her six or eight weeks after you made the proposal.”

“I couldn’t do that. I would have had to ask her to go into the Blacktown.”

“Well! and why not? Your house there is an excellent building with plenty of room in it. It gets the full benefit of the sea breeze, with no walls and bastions to keep out the air. You might have begun there and come into the Fort later,” said Jearsey, who had often stood up for the advantages of the house outside the Fort, when Piet had run it down and represented its disadvantages to Margery with vivid description.

Piet shifted uneasily on to the other foot as he stood there. He was of an obstinate disposition, and when once he had formed an opinion he stuck to it.

“The house is not large enough—not good enough for a European lady who wants a number of servants about her.”

“Nonsense!” cried Jearsey. “It’s large enough to hold a rabbit-warren of slaves. For the matter of that you could have cleared out a couple of storerooms for them. However, the mischief is done, and it’s no use worrying ourselves about it now. It isn’t safe to keep the wooing too long a-brewing. That was my mistake. It gave the lady’s fancy time to go roving. But now that the maid has changed her mind, let her go. Get your house finished and fetch a bride from among your own people at Masulipatam or Pulicat.”

It was excellent advice, and under his uncle’s cheerful influence Piet recovered his balance of mind. He returned to the subject that had been uppermost in Jearsey’s thoughts when he entered the room.

“With regard to the house; there is a little difficulty about the workmen——”

“—and the devil; I know,” said Jearsey as Piet hesitated. “Give them some goats and a few pagodas and let them lay their devil in their own way with a liberal sacrifice. Bless your soul! I have assisted more than once to lay the devil in this country when I found he interfered with my plans.”

This was one of the complaints made by the Directors in the early days against Jearsey—that he was too tolerant of heathenism, and that his profaneness was a discredit to the Protestant religion. Whereat Jearsey had laughed and commended them and their fads to that same devil himself.

“No, uncle; I will have no part with the heathen,” said Piet firmly. He drew his old Bible out of his capacious pocket and began to search for consolation in the old Testament. It was a curious fact, although it escaped observation, he never read the New Testament.

“Come, come, Piet!” cried Jearsey with some impatience, “put that book away and attend to me. I’ve got some beams of wood from inland, which I think will just suit your purpose. The wood is well seasoned and the best of its kind; and I bought it cheap.”

They plunged into conversation in which building materials found place and fickle women were forgotten. Before long Piet took his departure, turning his steps towards the new home, which he rightly observed had no longer any attraction for him.

Margery sat with Kitty in the cool curtained chamber overlooking the marshes and the river. The sweet song of the Indian water-wagtail with its canary-like notes fell on her ear. Her eyes followed the graceful movements of the little bird as it ran along the top of the garden wall, its slender tail dancing up and down. It was so proud and happy. Its mate was on a nest in a hole in the wall, and it could not keep silence; it poured forth a loud song of praise and delight.

Above the still waters of the “Silvery Cooum” a gay speckled kingfisher hovered on its black and white wings like a jewel of silver and ebony. Now and again it darted down and was lost to sight; but only to rise again and continue its hovering a few yards farther on.

Upon the greensward of the Island lay the Company’s calicoes, bleaching in the afternoon sun. Here and there were patches of blue and red where the dyed cloth was spread to dry. The horizon was bound with a level belt of palms. Their fresh green fronds glistened in the clear air as if they had just been washed by a shower.

Though Margery’s eyes were on the wide tropical landscape with its strange and wonderful sights, her thoughts were far away in the uncertain future. She had told Kitty of her fateful interview with Piet; of how he had taken his dismissal, and of Jearsey’s philosophical attitude.

“You have done quite right, dear child,” said Kitty with warm approval. “You have done your best to remedy the most foolish act in your life.”

“I am glad George is going with you to Cuddalore,” said Margery presently, lifting a haggard face to Kitty. “But I shall miss him. There will be times when I shall feel as if I had lost my best friend.”

“It will be well for him to be out of the way. There would be great danger every time you met him, lest the secret should be discovered through his manner to you. He is not a man to be able to hide his love,” observed Kitty. “He will have a better chance of getting away from Cuddalore than from the Fort, where he is needed in the garrison.”

“How will he manage to find the money for his discharge?” asked Margery.

“I shall provide it, and he will repay me. Goodwyn will set about searching for a means of returning to Europe as soon as be reaches Cuddalore. I shall lend him one of my little ships to go to Nursapore, where he will have an opportunity of making arrangements for buying one for Mr. Creede. I have a commission for Mr. Creede. We settled it at Mr. Bridger’s. If he carries it out he will not lose on the venture.”

“What is it?” asked Margery.

“Have you forgotten those pretty little playthings that I secured at Mrs. Pavia’s?” replied Kitty. “If the Dutch land you two poor shipwrecked people at Amsterdam, John Mitchell, as he is still to be called, will have no difficulty in disposing of my baubles. Margery, will you be ready to sail too? I am afraid Mitchell won’t consent to go home alone.”

She laughed softly and laid her hand with a kindly touch upon the girl’s shoulder.

“Oh, Mrs. Nicks, do you really believe that it can all be arranged?” cried Margery, not daring to think that the difficulties could be so easily overcome.

“Arranged? Of course it can be arranged; and before the next hot weather too. You are free to go where you like, now that you have broken with Piet. I shall invite you to Cuddalore and send Goodwyn to fetch you. The Jearseys will probably be very glad to get rid of you if they can do so without seeming to be unkind.”

“I shall hate being here and having to see Piet every day.”

“Once at Cuddalore everything will be easy,” continued Mrs. Nicks, who was never by any chance a pessimist. “I shall hand you over to the care of John Mitchell, halberdier, whose discharge will by that time have been bought. And then why shouldn’t there be a wedding on board with Captain Goodwyn as parson? Upon my word! I should like to be there myself; it will be such fun!” cried Kitty, giving rein to her imagination and letting romance run away with her.

As for Margery, she was almost carried away by the buoyant hopefulness of her companion; almost, but not quite.

“What if the council refuses to allow George his discharge?” she asked.

“Then John Mitchell must die,” said Kitty with decision.

“He shall choose his own form of death. There will be the usual rapid burial and a new grave which the President himself may come and view.”

“It all sounds so easy when you talk like that; but after you are gone my heart will sink, I know,” said Margery.

“You must be brave. We don’t want any cowards out in this country,” said Kitty severely. “Now I must warn you once more that we must all observe the greatest care in keeping the identity of John Mitchell secret. If the council were to discover that he was none other than George Creede of Bristol, who first flouted the Directors and then came out to their factory, he would be detained a prisoner here for goodness knows how long while the Directors were coming to a decision. Then he would be sent home in irons to stand his trial for a breach of their charter. On the whole it is a good thing that he is going to Cuddalore. Each time he meets you here, he runs a danger of discovery.”

“I don’t think anyone will take much notice of me after the way I have behaved to Piet,” said Margery.

“Except Piet himself; and he will never rest until he has found out the reason why you have rejected him.”

Margery went back to Jearsey’s house in deep thought. Kitty’s last words rang in her ears, as she dressed for her evening walk. She heard Piet leave the house with his uncle. Peeping from the upper veranda she noted that they took the way towards the Sea Gate, where, if the inhabitants of the Fort were minded to walk, they sought the sea breeze. Mrs. Jearsey was busy pouring the guava jelly that she had been making that day into jars and tying the pots down.

Margery was anxious to tell her lover the welcome news that she was free. She wanted to hear from his lips his warm approval of her action. She knew that he would rejoice; for he had more than once shown that he could be quite as jealous in his way as Piet.

The St. Thoma Street was deserted as she entered it. She took the path by the side of the wall and moved quickly towards the gate, passing close to the sentry. Secure in what she thought was the loneliness of the spot, she lifted her shining eyes to his as she approached. It was easy to read the story written there. To her surprise Creeds made no sign of greeting, as he came up with her in his beat; he passed straight on, saying in a low voice:

“Don’t stop; the Dutchman is in his new house. He may be coming out at any minute.”

With a start she hurried forward, not daring to look at the building. At that moment the door opened and Piet appeared. He called after her; but she did not reply. She went on as though she intended to pass through the archway into the open space beyond. Piet locked the door behind him and followed Margery through the gateway. He took no notice of the sentry whom he had to pass. Again he called and she was obliged to halt.

“Is that you, Piet?” she asked in simulated astonishment as she turned and faced him.

“Yes, Margery. I came to look at the house which I hoped would one day be our home.”

He spoke sadly and without a trace of anger. She began to feel a ray of pity for the dejected man. He shot a glance at the sentry, who was now standing like a statue before the gate. Although he was near them he was apparently unconscious of their presence.

“You will finish your house and be happy within its walls yet, I hope,” she said, turning to resume her walk along the rough path that led to the river and the Muckwa huts along its banks.

“Stay a second, Margery,” pleaded Piet in a voice that was not very steady. “My fate is hard to bear; don’t make it harder by being unkind.”

Relenting in her regret for his pain, she waited to hear what he had to say. He drew nearer and took her hand. The sentry dropped the butt end of his halberd on the ground. Its clang smote on her ear and made her start again. She tried to draw her hand away, but Piet held it fast.

“This is to say farewell; farewell to my little bride,” he said with a break in his voice.

“Are you going away, Piet?” asked Margery, a sudden hope springing up in her that he might start on one of his trading expeditions to Pulicat, the Dutch settlement, or to Masulipatam where his relatives lived.

“I cannot remain here under the present circumstances. It will be wiser to go. When I come back I shall meet Miss Armadale, but not my Margery. Oh! it is hard to bear; but it is the Lord’s will.”

His head sank on his breast in utter despair. Suddenly he lifted the hand he had retained and pressed upon it a passionate kiss. Turning away abruptly, his eyes upon the ground he went up the St. Thoma Street towards his uncle’s house with the bearing of a stricken broken-hearted man. Margery watched him till he went round the corner and was out of sight. Poor Piet, she thought, as she glanced at the half-finished empty house, that stood like a monument to his dead hopes.

She waited till she was satisfied that he would not return. Then she went hastily towards Creede.

“I have broken with him,” she said breathlessly.

“That is good,” he replied with a sigh of relief. It had been a great trial of patience to see her with Vandenberg.

“I will tell you all about it and the plans Mrs. Nicks has made,” she said, moving towards the guard-room. He stopped her.

“Some one is sitting there,” he said.

“Who is it?” she asked, her nerves strained by all that she had gone through.

“All right, sweetheart; don’t be frightened. It is only a harmless servant. The man is unhappy or demented. He likes to sit there and brood whenever he has the chance. Sometimes he wanders about outside, going as far as the Muckwas huts. The bar is closed so that he can walk along the beach as he pleases. Now tell me all about your interview with the Dutchman. Was he very angry?”

They moved nearer to the unfinished archway, where they would be more hidden than standing before the guardroom. She told him all that had happened. Their horizon had cleared, and Providence had raised up friends where they had least expected.

The way of escape was plain. He was to accompany Mrs. Nicks to Cuddalore. Margery was to follow later on a visit. Goodwyn was to find the means of escaping by purchasing a ship at Nursapore; and Mrs. Nicks would send him there in one of her own vessels. Creede knew the price he had to pay for her help. He was quite ready to undertake her commission and he had no doubt in his mind but that he could carry it out successfully.”

It was time for Margery to go. She stood in the archway with her back to the street. Creede was in front of her, his halberd resting against the wall, her hands in his.

“Good-bye, sweetheart! Come again to-morrow. I live only for these moments.”

She lifted her eyes to his with a trust and love she did not try to hide from him. The temptation to take her in his arms was strong. He glanced over her shoulder. The street was empty; no one was in sight. His quick eye scanned the Dutchman’s house. Something caught his attention and fixed his gaze.

The object that arrested his attention was the sight of a terrible face that stared at him from the vacant place in the boarded window.

“What is it? what do you see?” asked Margery, noting the sudden change in his expression.

“Nothing, sweetheart; nothing.”

He retained her hands and kept her standing with her back towards the horrible apparition, while he watched it gradually fade away into the blackness of the unlighted room. How he maintained his smile for his mistress he hardly knew; for the sight filled him with horror. There was something so repulsive, so devilish in the mysterious face. As it vanished he said, swiftly pressing a kiss upon her lips:

“Now hurry home as fast as you can and let us hope for one more meeting at our good friend Bridger’s before I set out on my journey to Cuddalore.”

Margery walked quickly away and the sentry resumed his halberd and his monotonous pacing to and fro before the gate. His eye was frequently turned towards the boarded unglazed window of Piet’s house, and also to the door. No one came out nor did he catch a second glimpse of the devil that haunted Piet’s house. Solomon issued from the guard-room.

“Did master see it?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes; I saw something this time.”

The bearer moved away, muttering to himself. Creede looked after him. The man was overwhelmed with some trouble, and he wondered if his mind was giving way.

Chapter XX

Yale was busy in his sitting-room. He was writing a letter to Nicks, to be carried by Kitty when she returned to Cuddalore. She was to make an early start the next day, and Goodwyn was to accompany her, providing his own means of locomotion.

Three men from the garrison were to proceed with her, one being John Mitchell. At the sergeant’s instigation Mitchell had been made a corporal and placed in command of the two privates, rough men who had come out before the mast and begged to be allowed to serve in the garrison instead of returning with their ship.

“Mr. Vandenberg to see your Honour,” said a peon at the door, as he showed the visitor in.

The President greeted him and asked him to sit down. Yale’s eyes rested on the Dutchman with curiosity. It was seldom that a free merchant sought an interview with the Governor unless he had some request to make. If of any importance the matter had to go before the council to be settled in consultation. It was usual for the free merchant to attend a council meeting and prefer his request after the business of the Company had been transacted.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Vandenberg?” asked Yale.

“Nothing, sir. I have not come to beg for any favour.”

Piet glanced at the door, which was not closed. Yale noted the direction of his eye; he rose and closed the door himself.

“What is it? Something private and personal? Is it about your new house?”

“It is private; but it concerns the Company, not myself,” replied Piet in a low voice.

“In that case you would like to make an appointment with the council. We meet to-morrow morning. If you will come then——”

“I would rather speak to you privately, sir.”

Piet thrust a hand into one of the capacious pockets of the coat he wore. First he produced his Bible. After the Bible came a pocket-handkerchief. Lastly he drew forth a sheaf of papers. They were in a dilapidated condition and had suffered from immersion in sea water. He handed the packet to Yale.

“What are these?” asked the President.

“Papers picked up on the beach south of St. Thoma,” replied Piet in a dull voice, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Have you looked at them?”

“No, sir; I thought it best not to open them. They were tied up and lashed between two bits of board. There was a small box as well, but it was broken and contained nothing. It might have held money or—or gems of some kind.”

“Who discovered the packet?” asked Yale, as he glanced at the partially sodden papers.

“A Muckwa. The fishermen are scouring the beach for miles looking for wreckage. The finder probably broke the box open and helped himself to whatever treasure it contained.”

“Why have you brought the papers to me?”

There was a pause, during which Vandenberg’s eyes met those of the President.

“I understood, sir, that you were anxious to find out the names of the two coasters that went down with the Borneo. These papers may help you to identify the vessels.”

“You know nothing else about them?”

“Nothing; for I haven’t examined them. I am sorry that I forgot to ask the name of the Muckwa who found them. I inquired if he belonged to the village here. He said no; and pointed south. There are fishing villages all down the coast.”

“I am very much obliged to you, Vandenberg, for bringing these papers to me. They may or may not be of service in solving the mystery of the unknown ships that went down. You know, of course, why we are so anxious to discover their names and the ports from which they sailed?”

“I think so, sir. The council hope to put their fingers upon the man who is carrying on the slave trade.”

“That is so; we all desire it.”

“None more than I do, sir. I have just lost two of my best servants from my house in Blacktown. My head man is wild with rage. He had been training these men as table servants for my new house in the Fort.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Yale. “I have suffered in exactly the same way.”

“It is kind of you to sympathize with me in my trouble. I ought to tell you that I shall not want the men now; for Miss Armadale has told me that she cannot marry me.”

Piet spoke sadly and without any trace of temper. His tone roused Yale’s pity. It was easy to see that he had received a blow; he was resigned and was reconciling himself to his fate nobly.

“This is bad news, Vandenberg. How has it happened?” asked Yale.

“The lady has changed her mind. That is all I know. Why she has done so she doesn’t tell me.”

“Well, all I can say is that I think Miss Armadale has treated you very badly,” said Yale.

Piet made no rejoinder. If he felt any indignation he was careful to keep it to himself. After a short pause he said:

“I think it would be as well for me if I went away from here for a short time. I have a friend at Pulicat, two days’ journey north of this. Would you have any objection, sir, if I left my house in the Blacktown for a month?”

“Not in the least,” responded Yale. “You are a free merchant and you are living outside the Whitetown. There is no need to ask leave. If there were you would receive it. Like your uncle, you have a clean record and have never been in our ‘black books.’ By all means go away and stay as long as you please. What is Miss Armadale going to do?”

“She is to remain on with my aunt for the present. It will be pleasanter for her if I am out of the way until we have got used to our new position as friends only.”

Vandenberg, having finished his business, rose to go. Yale looked at the packet of papers which he had left intact upon the writing-table.

“If I want to see you about these, where can I find you?”

“At Pulicat, where I shall be staying with Herr Vos. But it is very unlikely that I can be of any further use since I stupidly forgot to find out more about the Muckwa. I gave him a few fanams for the papers.”

“If he had already helped himself to the contents of the box he did not need any payment.”

“The box may have been emptied by another searcher and then thrown aside,” said Vandenberg. “In which case the Muckwa who brought the package to me would have gone unrewarded. We must not grind the face of the poor, nor fail to cast our bread upon the waters.”

Vandenberg departed and Yale looked after him with regret for the trouble that had overtaken the man. Margery Armadale had behaved badly, and her conduct was likely to embitter the Dutchman. In the President’s opinion she might go far before she met with a worthier husband, even though he was not of her nation. Then he fell to thinking of Kitty Nicks with misgiving. She had been staying next door to the Jearseys and had seen a great deal of Margery. Could she have had anything to do with the change in the girl’s feelings for her lover?

Vandenberg strolled towards the Fort House. As he turned the corner of Middle Street to cross the open space between the Company’s premises and the church, he saw Higgenson. He raised his hat to the grave member of council and hurried towards him.

“Mr. Higgenson, I wish to tell you a piece of news if you have not heard it already,” said Piet.

“Good news, I hope.”

“Not from my point of view. My marriage with Miss Armadale is not to take place.”

“Bless my soul! why not?” asked Higgenson, surprised.

“Miss Armadale has asked me to set her free. I have done so.”

“Why has she broken with you?” asked Higgenson.

Piet raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

“You must ask her that. I am at a loss to know why I have fallen out of favour. She has spent much time lately with Mistress Nicks, and she may have persuaded her that she can do better.”

“I don’t know where she is to find a better man than yourself, Vandenberg,” said Higgenson bluntly. “There isn’t much choice in the Fort. The girl will be sorry for it one day! Mark my words, she will! It is all due to the evil influence of Mistress Nicks, a most mischievous woman. After she has gone Margery may repent and come to her senses. When does Mistress Nicks leave?”

“To-morrow morning early. Goodwyn goes with her.”

“A pretty pair, upon my word! Are the diamond merchants leaving too?”

“I haven’t heard,” replied Piet in a dull voice.

“Chardin is very angry about those men,” continued Higgenson in some excitement. “He thought to make a great bargain out of them for the Company, and was led to believe that they had brought away some fine stones in their flight from Golcondah. When he came to examine the gems they were either too small to be of much use or they were flawed.”

“Possibly the merchants parted with their best to Mrs. Pavia,” remarked Piet.

“Mrs. Pavia! The wife of the Jew in the Luz?”

“The same; I was calling there the other day and found three of the diamond merchants with her.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Higgenson, his eyebrows rising.

“If you can’t believe me, ask Mistress Nicks. She was there at the time,” said Vandenberg, as though indignant that his word should be doubted.

“What was Mistress Nicks doing at the Pavias’ house, I should like to know?”

“She and Miss Armadale were just paying a call like myself. It is a pity you can’t have Mistress Pavia searched. Unfortunately she has a right to buy what stones she likes——”

“—provided she does not send them to England.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” said Piet. “Interloping is not in her line. She can do better with loans to all sorts of people. She is a usurer as well as her husband. She buys diamonds to wear them.”

“And Mistress Nicks buys them for another reason,” said Higgenson with a disagreeable laugh.

“Mistress Nicks wouldn’t be so rash as to buy diamonds under the very nose of the council,” said Piet confidently.

“I’m not so sure of that!” snapped the irate member of council.

“Even if she bought them, would she dare to carry them out of the Fort?” asked Vandenberg with a smile that irritated his companion.

“That woman would dare anything, I’ll wager my life! She would overreach her own mother at a bargain. But we’ll be even with her! We’ll be even with her or my name is not Higgenson!”

“Don’t forget that the President is her friend,” warned the careful Dutchman.

“So much the worse for him. She will be his undoing some day; mark my words!” said Higgenson, who had worked himself up into a state of irritation. It was not surprising considering the disappointment the council had had in failing to secure the diamonds required for the crown of the King of Siam.

⁎  ⁎  ⁎

Yale, left to himself, finished his letter to the Chief at Cuddalore. He slipped it into his pocket, deciding to pay Kitty a farewell visit and to give her the letter himself. He put on a large turban and walked to Jearsey’s house. In addition to saying good-bye, he wanted if possible to give his old friend another word or two of warning. The presence of Goodwyn at Cuddalore would prove a temptation, even though the man had no interloping ship under his command. Yale was anxious that she should not let him remain too long with her as her guest.

Kitty greeted him warmly, making him feel that he was the one person in the world whom she most wished to see, as was probably the case.

“I have come to say good-bye, Kitty; as I cannot be here to-morrow morning to see you off. Goodwyn will take care of you on the road.”

“I can take care of myself, thank-ye. It is more likely that I shall be looking after him and his comfort; I know more about travelling by land than he does.”

Yale spoke of Goodwyn’s plans, asking what he was going to do.

“He is going to Nursapore, I believe, where he will buy a country-built ship. He won’t stay a moment longer than he can help at Cuddalore, you may be sure!”

“H’m! I suppose he will be up to his old games in eighteen months; and in a couple of years he will be back among us with a plausible tale and with his ship’s papers made up to please our eye.”

“I am not so sure that we shall see him again. Merchants don’t look with favour on masters who lose their vessels. If Goodwyn had slipped his anchor and taken his ship out to sea he might have ridden out the storm, but he couldn’t do so because he was ashore.”

“I suppose you don’t know what he was doing at St. Thoma?”

“Yes, I do!” cried Kitty unexpectedly. “He was arranging for the revictualling of his vessel.”

“Why didn’t he tell me so when I was questioning him about himself?” asked Yale with a shadow of annoyance on his face.

“Would you have believed him? You were so certain that Goodwyn and I were shipping slaves that you were not prepared to listen to common sense. He saw that you were incredulous and your incredulity closed his mouth.”

“What sort of a man is Creede? Have you heard Goodwyn speak of him?”

“Only now and then. He seems from the little I know to be a peppery hot-head.”

Kitty’s eyes shone as she described the Bristol merchant; but no smile stirred her lips.

“Well, all I have to say is, get rid of Goodwyn as soon as you can, and I hope we have seen the last of him.”

“That will depend on whether Mr. Creede will give him another ship.”

Yale presented her with a packet.

“Here is a letter with enclosures for your husband. Tell him to secure the fort at Tevanaputnam for us if he can. We must have some place of security for our goods with the country so unsettled.”

“And I suppose John must do without a reinforcement for the garrison at present?”

“We are sending three men.”

“That’s good news. Three will be better than none. I hope they are steady and can be depended upon to keep out of the ’rack houses in the bazaar.”

“Two are privates; the third is Corporal Mitchell, who has been promoted. He is responsible for the behaviour of the other men.”

“He is big enough and strong enough to punish them if they misbehave,” said Mrs. Nicks with a twinkle of the eye.

After a little more conversation Yale left her, wishing her a good journey and expressing a hope that she and her little girls would come after Christmas and spend as many days with his wife as could be spared.

The President returned to his office, where work awaited him. It was not until after his midday meal, and he had come back from the Fort House, that he found a spare minute to look at the papers Piet had brought. They did not interest him. The sea water had probably rendered them illegible; if he could manage to read them, they would prove to be accounts of daily expenditure on board ship such as the head cook kept.

By this time the papers were dry. He untied the string and opened them out. There were six sheets all ruled and arranged for entries as though they were kept in the shipping office for the purpose.

They belonged to a small ship, the Rampore, sailing from Masulipatam. It was all commonplace and uninteresting. The handwriting that filled in the forms was crabbed and illiterate and the spelling was faulty; the writer was a better seaman than scholar.

Yale turned over a leaf. It was nearly illegible from the soaking it had received. The names of the people who had shipped goods on board were almost undecipherable. They were mostly Portuguese names and unfamiliar.

On the last page but one was a list of native names under the heading of. “Deck passengers.” His eye ran down the list. They were Tamil names such as were common among the people of South India. The destination was Bencoolen, the chief town and port of Sumatra.

Suddenly like a flash of vivid light a thought darted through his brain. It was the abrupt illumination that gave him a shock.

Those men whose names were recorded were slaves.

Swiftly his brain worked now that it had once been set in motion. The four men whose bodies had come ashore at St. Thoma were entangled in a shred of canvas which bore the two letters “RA——.” They were the first letters of the word Rampore as well as the Raven.

Feverishly he searched the papers for the name of the master of the ship. He found it half obliterated; but for all that he thought he could read it.

It was James Mitchem or James Mitchell; he could not be sure which. He stared at it for some minutes. Then he folded up the papers and locked them away in the safe that was built into the wall of his room.

Once more he seated himself at his table. After another ten minutes of troubled thought he rose, and put on the thick turban that he wore when he went out into the midday sun.

“I must see Bett at once,” he said to himself. As he descended the stairs he muttered to himself, “Thank God it wasn’t Kitty or Goodwyn.”

Chapter XXI

The sun was still below the eastern horizon when Kitty entered Mrs. Jearsey’s parlour, ready equipped for the long overland journey to Cuddalore. A substantial breakfast was on the table and Goodwyn was already seated.

“I am not waiting for anyone,” he said apologetically, as he helped himself to a couple of mutton chops.

“Quite right, too. You are more hungry than I am. I have no appetite this morning.”

“Not frightened of the dangers on the road, are you?”, he asked, as he stirred the dark sweet palm sugar in his coffee.

“Not I. I am much more afraid of the dangers within the Fort. I shall be right glad to find myself on the road. I believe the members of council fear lest I should sell the Fort over their heads and buy up the Blacktown.”

Margery hovered near and frequently had occasion to go out on the upper veranda to look at the porters and bearers. Two of the soldiers who were to accompany the expedition had arrived. Corporal Mitchell was not with them.

The bearers of Kitty’s palanquin were Muckwas from the fishing villages near Cuddalore. They had brought her to Fort St. George and were glad to be starting homeward again.

Captain Goodwyn’s horse, a dark iron-grey Persian that Mrs. Nicks had bought for him, was being held by a syce. The luggage, of which there was a great quantity, was to be carried partly by a gang of slaves lent by Jearsey, and partly on the backs of small bullocks, sturdy animals in spite of their diminutiveness.

With the luggage were the requisites for camping out. A large spreading tree was generally to be found on the road. There was also native rest-houses where a wide veranda could be swept and cleared for the travellers’ accommodation.

Mrs. Nicks made a point of travelling comfortably; she never hurried herself or her men. A few days more or less on the road were as nothing compared with the discomfort of having tired beasts and porters. The one thing she hoped for was fine weather. Showers she did not mind, but the heavy rain that was due in November and the early days of December she hoped to escape by hurrying off and not lingering at Madras.

Making light of the small fatigues and privations incidental to the road, she treated inland journeys as picnics, and adapted herself to the mode of life with the ease of a Begum. She would have undertaken a trip to Surat with a congenial companion like Goodwyn, if she could have been assured of a profitable deal at the end of it.

The Company’s consignment for the Chief of the Cuddalore Factory was also ready. The broadcloth was made up in bales which were sewn in mats and tarred canvas. Some of the bales were carried singly; others were slung on a pole between two porters.

Jearsey’s house had been astir since four o’clock in the morning. Its numerous inhabitants from the master and mistress to the smallest slave boys were occupied in helping to speed the parting guest. Margery was never very far from Kitty’s side. Again and again did Kitty whisper fragmentary words of comfort and reassurance in her ear.

“Come, Mistress Nicks; it is time you were starting. The Company’s porters and guards have moved off and are waiting at the Fort Gate,” said Jearsey.

A servant entered the parlour to say that three gentlemen from the Fort House asked to see the lady who was just leaving. Jearsey went down to the entrance hall, where he found Higgenson and two other members of the council, Wavell and Metcalfe. He glanced from one to the other with inquiry in his eyes.

“Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Jearsey,” said Higgenson in a loud voice that betokened a nervousness that he strove in vain to disguise. “We should like to see Mistress Nicks.”

“She is just about to start. You won’t delay her, I hope. She wants to reach St. Thoma’s Mount before eleven o’clock.”

“We shall not keep her long.”

Jearsey led the way up to the parlour, wondering what the gentlemen belonging to the Company wanted with Mrs. Nicks. Some message to her husband on the subject of the Company’s business, he supposed.

Kitty had risen from the table. She was adjusting the long cloak of light material which Margery had thrown over her shoulders. Her dress was of white dimity. A crossover of muslin covered her neck. It was fastened at the breast with a knot of ribbon and a spray of satin cherries. Her hair was parted in the middle and brushed smooth on each side of the parting to a line above the ears. From this point hung a row of short curls to the nape of her neck clustering thickly. By way of a head ornament she wore bands of crimson ribbon that confined the curls and kept them in place. The bands ended on each side of the head high above the ears in two bunches of large cherries similar to those at her breast. They were very becoming and she knew it as she stood there, her quilted hood in her hand ready to be put on when the sun had risen. On her arm she carried a bag that served as a pocket.

A lamp was still burning on the table, showing that the party had breakfasted before daylight. It was no longer necessary, as the white light of dawn was rapidly filling the room.

“Good morning, Mistress Nicks,” said Higgenson in a loud aggressive voice. “You will excuse us for making so early a call.”

“Certainly, gentlemen, you have come to wish me a good journey as well as good morning,” responded Kitty gaily. At the same time there was a gleam in her eye which would have warned those, who knew her better than the members of council, to be careful how they trod.

“We shall wish you a good morning and a good journey when you have answered a few questions which we desire to put.”

Up to the present only Higgenson had spoken. Wavell and Metcalfe stood a little behind, looking extremely uncomfortable. Wavell took a step forward and tried to explain the purpose for which they had come. Kitty glanced from one to the other, the colour deepening in her cheeks, until they bid fair to rival the cherries.

“We should be glad to know, madam, that you are not carrying diamonds out of the Fort to be sent to England by any friend you may happen to be assisting,” said Wavell, courteously, and with what he considered official ceremony.

Still Kitty did not speak. Her shining eyes never left their faces as she scanned them with keen scrutiny. Jearsey and his wife had been joined by the Bridgers, who had come in to say farewell. They had fallen back. It was not an affair in which they wished to take a hand. Goodwyn stood his ground unmoved and observant, as though waiting for the approaching storm to break. There was a grim smile on his lips although they were tightly closed. Margery had drawn nearer to her friend and had slipped a hand in her arm. She was ready to champion her and to fight her battles if necessary; but it seemed that Kitty was quite able to hold her own for the present.

“It has been brought to our notice that you were seen in the company of the diamond merchants at the house of Pavia the Jew in the Luz,” said Higgenson.

Kitty only closed her lips the tighter. Her silence increased the embarrassment of the three invited guests.

“We are very sorry to be obliged to take this course,” said Metcalfe with all the courtesy he could summon to his aid. “But in the interests of the Company we cannot do otherwise than ask you this question: Are you taking any diamonds away? You are aware that you have only to declare their value and pay the dues on them. You will then be able to send them openly to England by whatever ship you choose without compromising yourself or the master of the ship.”

Still Kitty said nothing. Her chin was lifted another inch, but otherwise she might not have heard their words. Jearsey, who was becoming increasingly ill at ease at this implied accusation of illicit trading against his guest, took a step forward and spoke.

“Mistress Nicks is my visitor. Let me answer for her.” He paused and looked at Kitty, as though asking her permission to take upon himself a responsibility that might weigh heavy on her shoulders. She made no sign. He continued: “May I assure you, gentlemen, that the lady has no diamonds.”

His hesitation did not escape the watchful and suspicious eyes of Higgenson. He was about to respond, but Wavell, beginning to lose confidence in the judgment of his superior, interposed.

“We ought to be satisfied with Jearsey’s assurance. We can give the lady a friendly warning that the Directors will deal with the matter severely if they find that she is infringing their rights.”

He and Metcalfe were by this time thoroughly uncomfortable. They knew that Higgenson was exceeding his powers in making the inquisition. Although he was second in council and next to the President in authority, he had no right to take action without the permission of the council. It was an unprecedented act; and Nicks, as one of the Company’s merchants, might call them to account and make things very unpleasant for them. The Directors had a way of disposing of quarrels among their servants by sending those who were to blame to other settlements that were not so well favoured in the matter of climate as Fort St. George.

“I am by no means satisfied,” cried Higgenson, whose temper did not improve as the minutes passed.

The company present looked at Kitty, as though they believed that she alone could bring the interview to an end. In answer to the mute appeal of her circle of friends, she threw the bag she carried on to the table, and folding her arms across her breast she said:

“Gentlemen, if you are not satisfied with Master Jearsey’s word—search me!”

There was a murmur of protest from her friends, but the three intruders took no notice of it. Wavell said in a conciliatory tone:

“It would simplify matters if you would allow us to do so.”

“Mr. Wavell,” said Kitty without a trace of anger in her voice, “will you kindly go down to the hall, where you will find my luggage. Mr. and Mrs. Jearsey will go with you and will call Rebecca, the maid who has waited on me while I have been here. My keys are in that bag on the table. Mr. Metcalfe, the palanquin is under the portico. Kindly go and superintend the search with Mr. Bridger.” She turned imperiously to the leader of the offenders. “Mr. Higgenson, you will search my person.”

The two men, Wavell and Metcalfe, left the room with alacrity, grateful to Mrs. Nicks for the part assigned to them. Goodwyn, his eyes twinkling, asked if he might go and assist Bridger. Without waiting for a reply he followed the two members of council out of the room. There remained only Margery, Mrs. Bridger, Higgenson and Kitty herself.

“Proceed, Mr. Higgenson,” said Kitty. “I shall be glad to start on my journey before the sun is high. Margery, unlace me my shoes. Mrs. Bridger, help me to slip off my skirt. Will it be necessary, sir, to remove my petticoat and shift?”

“Madam!—please—you embarrass——”

“You wish me to come nearer? With pleasure. I only desire to do what you command. Here, sir; will it please you to feel the hem of my skirt?” She threw the garment at him so that it hung upon his shoulder. “Pray empty the pocket and examine the gathers. Margery, show him my shoes. If he will wait until I unbuckle my garters he shall feel my stockings as well.”

She thrust the garments into his clumsy hands one after another as she freed herself. Then she seized his unwilling fingers and pressed them to her large Stuart sleeves.

“Feel the sleeves of my bodice if you please. Do you find any diamonds there?” She was carrying his hand to lay it upon the cross-over when he snatched it away with an oath and backed towards the door.

“No, sir, you do not go!” cried Kitty as he showed signs of flight. She danced before him in the shortest of petticoats, one foot bare, the other only stockinged. “You must allow me to remove the bodice of my frock so that you can see for yourself that I have not secreted diamonds in the folds of my cross-over.”

Before he could prevent her she had unfastened the knot of cherries at her breast and handed them to Margery to hold. The ends of the cross-over were thrown wide apart; the buttons of her white bodice were undone with a determination and rapidity that seemed to promise that she would be entirely stripped in a few seconds. The lace frills that trimmed the under-bodice were visible lying against her white neck.

With his face aflame and the veins standing out upon his forehead, Higgenson backed still farther away. Kitty followed, drawing closer and closer as she continued her entreaties that he would examine everything closely. Margery followed, picking up the stocking, shoes and skirt as Higgenson let them drop.

“See! see! look for yourself, sir, Here! and here is yet another article of clothing that might contain a bulse of diamonds. But there is none. You do not find a bulse anywhere, do you, sir? I hope you are satisfied now. I shall tell my husband how you compelled me to undress and how you searched me yourself. Oh, sir, be assured that I shall let him know how I have been treated by order of the council and he will represent it to the Directors. I am the wife of one of their merchants, the Chief of a Factory, whose word will carry weight with the Board.”

By this time Higgenson was speechless with shame and confusion. He was a modest man whose character with regard to women was without reproach. Mrs. Nicks had browbeaten him to the landing at the top of the stairs.

Those who were in the hall below looked up and saw the embarrassed man faced by a disrobed lady, who smiled and threatened at the same time. Goodwyn and Bridger joined the party downstairs to look on at the final discomfiture of the inquisitor.

Higgenson, finding himself near the stairs, made a dash for the bannisters, turned and fled. Kitty’s voice pursued him with complaints and threats that were devoid of anger. Her pose was injured innocence. It was for the recognized authorities and her husband to avenge this wanton behaviour on his part.

Wavell and Metcalfe were busy at the tasks Kitty had assigned to them. They were doing it thoroughly. They looked up in astonishment as their senior member stood before them at the foot of the stairs. The floor of the hall was blocked with the contents of Kitty’s trunks. The sight of the lady’s underwear only added to Higgenson’s confusion.

Without a word he shot past the empty trunks, kicking over a pile of dainty lace-trimmed garments never seen in public except on the dhoby’s clothes-line, and stumbling among small shoes—some of them with red heels and all adorned with rosettes or buckles.

A volley of questions met him as he made for the door and dashed into the street. Here the road was littered with the contents of the palanquin and he had to pick his way among pillows, rugs, palm-leaf fans, water-bottles, parcels of food and various small articles considered necessary for a journey that would occupy four or five days. The bearers chattered vociferously; the servants hurried this way and that, all talking at once. None knew what was the matter. Something had been lost which must be found before the mistress could start.

As Higgenson hastened up the street, leaving chaos and confusion behind him, he was conscious of a loud guffaw that came echoing after him. It was Goodwyn, whose sense of the ludicrous had proved too much for him. All along his enforced gravity had been trying to his self-control. The glimpse he had caught of the shameless Kitty at the top of the landing and the terrified man who was escaping from a sight that shocked all his puritanical ideas of propriety, broke down the last remnant of the sea captain’s self-possession and he roared helplessly.

The laughter was infectious after the severe restraint was relaxed. It spread to Bridger, who joined in. Wavell and Metcalfe were the next to let themselves go. Finally Jearsey, a man who was rarely known to be overcome with humour, joined in the merriment and began to gurgle with helpless laughter, which was echoed by Mrs. Nicks and hen companions at the top of the stairs.

Kitty dressed herself as rapidly as she had thrown off her garments. She took the bunch of cherries from Margery, who had been carefully holding them the while.

“My precious fruit!” said Kitty as she pinned the cherries in the folds of the muslin cross-over. “It was just as well that Master Higgenson did not feel their stones. He might have made a discovery that would have cost me very dear. And now, good-bye, dear child. Keep up your courage, and all will be well.”

“He has not appeared yet,” the girl whispered.

“And he will not come. He is in charge of the Company’s porters at the gate. I hope they have started and are well on their way by this time. You said good-bye to him last night. Now, if the palanquin has been tidied and my trunks re-packed, I must be off.”

The rest of her adieux were quickly made. Order was restored in the hall and in the street. The porters carrying the camp requisites had already started under the escort of the two privates, who were ordered by Wavell to join their corporal at the West Gate. He sent a message to the effect that they were not to wait for the palanquin, but begin the journey at once.

As the trunks were packed and again locked, the men hoisted them on to their heads and followed.

Wavell and Metcalf did not wait to see the lady they had helped to insult depart. With polite speeches they wished her a good journey; and they apologized profusely for having been the cause of her delay. They did not scruple to put the blame on to Higgenson, assuring her that, as he was their superior, they had no alternative but to do as he bade them.

“Was the President aware of his intention?” asked Kitty, whose air was triumphant and good-natured.

“Certainly not; Higgenson particularly asked us not to mention it to him,” said Wavell, who liked Mrs. Nicks and only laughed when her “separate ventures” were spoken of. “It would be kind of you, if you have occasion to tell him of the little incident, to say that we were drawn into it against our wills.”

Kitty could afford to forgive, seeing that she had not been deprived of the crimson satin cherries that became her so well.

“You may be sure that I shall saddle the right horse and lay no burden on those who are innocent.”

The two merchants walked away, leaving her with less anxiety than they felt when they heard her threats regarding her husband and the Directors.

The palanquin, which was Kitty’s private property and took the place of a carriage, was slung on a single pole. It was well furnished with cushions and curtains. Round the framework inside were convenient contrivances in the shape of pockets and racks for trifles she needed about her. It stood on the ground ready for her to enter.

“Come, Mrs. Nicks, it is time you were starting. I am afraid you are rather late,” said Jearsey once more, as he drew aside the curtain and held it back while she entered.

Kitty in her light travelling cloak, laughing and repeating graceful words of thanks, laid herself down among her pillows. The bearers lifted the pole and the palanquin swung gently as they adjusted it to their shoulders. At her word of command they moved forward, Jearsey and Bridger walking by her side as far as the Fort Gate. Here they bade her a final farewell and remained looking after her as she went forth into a foreign land from one tiny spot of British possession to another, still smaller and less firmly established. Goodwyn rode up. He pulled his horse in and exchanged a word or two with the two free merchants; but could not stay more than half a minute.

The caravan had been delayed quite long enough by the fruitless search for Kitty’s diamonds, and Goodwyn was glad to be moving. He longed to feel the planks of a deck beneath his feet and see the white sails of his ship spread out once more against the blue skies of the tropics.

It was a lucky chance that had raised up so good a friend for him and his owner as they had found in Mrs. Nicks. Without her their chance of returning to England would have been small. Though he was so anxious to get back to sea, he was not insensible to the wonderful novelty of his surroundings.

The soft tread of his horse’s unshod hoofs upon the smooth unmacadamized road, the chant of the bearers in front as they travelled along at a trot, the cool crisp air with its scent of growing vegetation, the thick foliage of the trees, the burnished butterflies and brilliant plumage of the birds were new to the man of the sea and he enjoyed them.

Kitty was an experienced traveller. She kept all her men in front of her and gave them no opportunity of loitering or straying from the road into the villages. The spot for the midday halt had been fixed. It was a tope of trees just off the highway and not far from the Mount where St. Thomas is said to have lost his life.

An ample meal of curry and rice had been prepared by her orders. After it the men were to sleep for a couple of hours and a start was to be made at half-past three for the next camping-ground, where they would pass the night.

The huge steaming pots of rice were ready as porter and bearer put down their loads. Food for Mrs. Nicks, Captain Goodwyn and the three English soldiers was prepared by a cook and his assistant who had accompanied her to the Fort.

When they were within a mile of their halting-place, Goodwyn cantered forward to see that all the arrangements were being carried out in proper order. His thoughts dwelt upon George Creede, who as one of the garrison was marching on foot. If Goodwyn had overtaken him in time, he intended offering him his horse for the latter part of the march.

Creede was strong and fit; but like Goodwyn he was little accustomed to the road. Goodwyn feared lest he should be footsore and overcome by the heat. Apparently he had done the journey without any difficulty.

The porters were already seated near the big cooking-pots. They held platters of green leaves, made by pinning the leaves together with stalks of stout grass. A gang of women under the superintendence of a man began to ladle out the rice without delay.

The three English soldiers were resting beneath a shady tree. Goodwyn’s syce, who had gone on ahead overnight with the camp cooks, took the horses as the captain dismounted. He walked up to the soldiers. They rose to their feet and saluted. The non-commissioned officer in charge came forward.

“May I have a word with you, sir?” he said.

They drew aside out of hearing of the men.

“Who are you?” asked Goodwyn in some surprise.

“I am Sergeant William Ryan,” he replied.

“Where is Corporal John Mitchell? I understood that he was to be in charge of the detachment.”

“At the last moment Captain Bett made other arrangements, sir,” said Ryan. “Corporal Mitchell has been detained at the Fort and I have been ordered to take his place. I am to stay at Cuddalore only a short time and return with the porters, who are to bring country goods back with them. I have a note here for Mrs. Nicks from Captain Bett.”

“Why was the change made?” asked Goodwyn, to whom the news was an unpleasant shock.

“I am not able to say, sir.”

“Did Mitchell get into any trouble?” inquired Goodwyn with a sudden misgiving that the secret visits to Bridger’s house and meetings with Miss Armadale had been discovered.

“Not that I am aware of, sir. The order came late last night after Mitchell had turned in. Captain Bett sent for me and told me to take the two men we have here to Cuddalore. If Mr. Nicks is dissatisfied with any of the soldiers who are serving in the Factory, I am to bring them back. Perhaps you will give this letter to Madam.”

The sound of chanting bearers told them that the palanquin was not far off. Goodwyn hurried off to meet her and assist her to get out. Her quick eyes noted the expression of his face.

“What’s wrong, friend?” she asked at once.

“John Mitchell is not with us,” he answered.

“Why has the President played me false? He certainly promised that I should have Mitchell with me.”

Goodwyn repeated the sergeant’s story and gave her the note. She tore it open and read it. Refolding the paper she said:

“Captain Bett regrets that he is obliged to make an alteration. He sends Sergeant Ryan in place of John Mitchell, whose presence is required in the Fort by the President and council.”

Kitty looked up at him, raising her eyebrows.

“D——n the President and council!” said the seafaring man.

“There’s something wrong,” remarked Kitty.

“Shall I go back to the Fort?” asked Goodwyn. “I don’t like leaving Creede behind. I feel in a way responsible for him. Though the Raven was his ship, I was its master. He was in my charge. I can make up some excuse for my return.”

“No; it would at once rouse suspicion. Some one is working against us. Some enemy put Higgenson up to searching me for diamonds. But I was even with him. Mark my words. Captain Goodwyn, I’ll be even with the council again, and we’ll have Mr. George Creede at Cuddalore before long, or my name is not Kitty Nicks,” concluded Kitty with one of her favourite expressions.

Chapter XXII

The weeks passed wearily for Margery after Mrs. Nicks left. She knew nothing of the reversal of the order concerning Mitchell’s appointment to the garrison at Cuddalore. In those days there was no post; the telegraph had not even been dreamed of. The only means of communication was by puttemar, a native runner, the predecessor of the Indian post peon. He covered the ground at a slow trot, the bag of mails tied round his waist and partially hidden under a thick cotton loin cloth. His only weapon of defence was a long staff having a heavy ferrule of iron at one end and a bunch of bells at the other. The jingling of the bells was supposed to frighten away wild animals and evil spirits. Occasionally he struck the ground as he ran. The vibration warned snakes and scorpions to remove themselves from his path.

No puttemar had come from Cuddalore. Sergeant Ryan with a consignment of calicoes was expected at the beginning of December, by which time the heavy rains of November, brought by the north-east monsoon, would be over and only showers might be looked for. He would bring letters, and in addition news by word of mouth.

Margery was obliged to exercise much patience and even more faith. She had her hours of misgiving when the future looked black and hopeless. At other times the cheerful hopefulness of youth asserted itself, and she persuaded herself that Mrs. Nicks would be as good as her word and find a way out of the difficulty.

Piet was still at the Dutch settlement at Pulicat staying with Herr Vos. She was grateful to him for keeping himself out of sight. It was a consideration on his part which she had not looked for. As she was still living with the Jearseys it would have been embarrassing to have met him frequently. If he had given up his daily visits on her account, she would have felt herself to be the cause of an unnecessary and inconvenient separation of nephew from relatives who had stood in the place of parents to him.

Mrs. Jearsey, never an interesting companion, was duller than ever. On every occasion when she found herself in Margery’s presence, she fixed her eyes upon her with a melancholy cow-like expression which made the girl feel as if she must laugh hysterically. It was Mrs. Jearsey’s method of showing the deep disappointment she had sustained over the rupture of the engagement. Jearsey had forbidden his wife to mention the subject to Margery. He had no intention that she should be bullied because she had ceased to love Piet; Mrs. Jearsey had to content herself with heavy sighs that were intended to show what she was not able to put into words. Margery was deeply grateful to Jearsey for his kind-hearted consideration.

There were times when the silence imposed on the Dutch lady became intolerable, and Margery longed for the afternoon when she could put on her hood and leave the house. As early as three o’clock in the afternoon, when Mrs. Jearsey was still enjoying her after-dinner sleep, she would creep away with her needlework to sit under the shadow of a wall in the quiet churchyard. An hour or so later the ladies of the Fort with their children would pass through the Sea Gate to the beach and Margery would join them.

A favourite walk was to the St. Thoma Gate. Perhaps the fine tall figure of John Mitchell haunted the archway as a vision in her memory. The place was often deserted except for the sentry. The workpeople were not doing much during the rainy season, and Margery had the place with all its recollections to herself.

Piet’s house stood empty and deserted in its half-finished state, the broken boarding of the unglazed window still unrepaired. It had a melancholy appearance and reminded her of Mrs. Jearsey with her sighs and her gloomy silence. Margery took an increasing dislike to the building and avoided looking in that direction when she passed.

Occasionally she met Solomon going in or out of the St. Thoma Gate; but he never asked now to sit in the guardroom. Of late he had seemed once or twice as though he would have spoken; as she gave him no encouragement he passed on in silence, casting a glance at the sentry who was observing his movements.

One evening she ventured out into the waste ground beyond the gate and wandered towards the river. The sky was clear overhead and contained all the opalescent tints that a tropical sun gathers at its setting. In the west beyond the low line of Red Hills and the level expanse of palm trees, heavy clouds lifted their rounded heads showing golden rims to their purple masses. Pale streams of lightning ran over and through them, releasing the store of water in evening showers that filled the tanks and rivers forty miles inland.

A native approached and stopped at a little distance from her. Did he make a sign with his hand? she was not sure, but she fancied that he did. She quickened her steps and reached the spot where he was standing.

“Why, it’s Solomon!” she said with a smile. She knew all about the calamity that had befallen him in the loss of Mary. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with your little master on the sands.”

“I have leave to-day until nine o’clock, missie.”

His eyes were on the Fort. She turned and looked towards the St. Thoma Gate. Solomon had chosen a position so that a stunted palm growing in the sand hid him from the view of the sentry. He kept a careful watch all the same.

“What are you doing here?” asked Margery, wondering how he could prefer the solitary waste, which they had to themselves, to the native bazaar in the Blacktown.

“I was looking for missie. Two or three times I have been here when missie has come; but there has been the sentry with many eyes. The order is that I am not to speak when others are looking.”

“Why do you want to see me?” she asked.

For answer he took a small piece of dried palm leaf from the folds of his turban and gave it to her.

“The sentry who used to guard this gate, his Honour to whom missie spoke sometimes, sent this by my hand,” said Solomon.

She received it, wondering what he meant.

“Have you been to Cuddalore where his Honour now is?”

“I have never left the Fort and his Honour has been here all the time.”

“I don’t understand! You must be mistaken, Solomon. Corporal John Mitchell went to Cuddalore with Mistress Nicks a month ago.”

“On the morning that he should have departed a different order was given, and Sergeant Ryan went instead. He is still away; but is expected back soon with bales of goods. I have heard his Excellency, the Governor, speaking of it,” explained Solomon in the familiar Portuguese that came more easily to his tongue than Margery’s language.

“Why did the corporal stay behind?” she asked.

“It was by order of the Commandant. There is writing on the palm leaf, as missie will see by looking at it in the light. It is done with a pin as we of the country write. His Honour will perhaps tell the reason why he did not go.”

As Solomon said this he salaamed and would have left, but Margery detained him.

“Stay; let me read it before you go.”

“I must not wait here. The sentry is looking to see if missie is coming back.”

“Why should I not been seen speaking to the President’s servant?”

“It is best not, and the order given was that no one should know that I talked to missie.”

“Can you take back a reply?”

He made a gesture of assent; and she asked when she could meet him again to give it.

“Write on the palm leaf only; it is safer than using paper. To-morrow afternoon the little master will be playing on the sand and I shall be with him. If missie will come then and help to build up the Fort, it is possible that she may be able to give me the palm leaf which I can pass under the door of the room where he lives.”

Solomon spoke rapidly, and when he had finished he turned away and strode towards the gate. A hundred questions were on her lips. Had he seen his Honour? how did he look? what had he said? but he was too far off to hear. Her eyes sought the leaf of dried palm which she held in her hand. It was similar to the leaves bought by the natives in the bazaar to keep accounts on. They were cut into oblong shape and were strung upon a cord; and were hung upon a nail in the wall. The writing was done as a rule with a small stylus held under the thumb-nail. Mitchell might have used a pin as Solomon had suggested. She examined the impress on the leaf.

“Sweetheart, I have never left the Fort. That kind good woman was obliged to go without me. I know not what the Commandant intends to do with me. At present I am confined to barracks. All I want to tell you now is that I am well and that I love you, I love you, I love you! You are not to grieve. There are difficulties and dangers ahead; but I feel sure that I shall overcome them. Keep a brave heart, beloved, and do not be anxious about your ever-faithful and devoted lover.”

No name was signed, lest by any means the leaf should fall into hands for which it was not intended.

So, then! Mitchell had been within the Fort walls all this time without her knowledge! The thought thrilled her. She was astounded; rejoiced to feel that he was so near; terrified that he was confined to barracks and therefore virtually a prisoner. Over and over again she read the strange love letter. It was not the first she had received. Piet had written many during their engagement. But the Dutchman’s formal epistles had been on paper and in very different language. They breathed no love, and they ended in a quotation from Scripture or some religious sentiment. Mitchell’s carried love and hope which cheered her and set the blood tingling in her veins.

Twilight was upon the landscape. The sea was a deep blue-purple and the river had turned grey. It was time that she retraced her steps. She hurried through the St. Thoma Gate unconscious of the sentry’s gaze. He was relieved at the sight of her, for it would soon be time to close the gate. He wondered what could be the attraction of the waste ground with its uninviting thorny vegetation, and whether she had ventured as far as the Muckwas’ huts with their stores of salt fish. The smell alone should have driven her in an opposite direction. However, there was no accounting for tastes in the quality. He gazed after her with curiosity, as she stepped along as though she were treading on air. An unconscious smile was on her lips and a light in her eyes which were fortunately hidden under cover of the darkness.

George Creede in the Fort! George within hailing distance if it were not for walls and barred doors! Any day he might appear as a sentry at one of the gates. It was marvellous! it was bewildering!

But she was not altogether satisfied when she came to think over it after her first elation had worn off; a view of the situation that had not presented itself before troubled her. His presence in the Fort meant that he had not made any progress towards the liberty which could alone bring him to her. Had he been at Cuddalore with Goodwyn, by this time he would have arranged something with the help of Mrs. Nicks, and they would have been putting their plans into execution.

The world seemed just a little less rosy as she ran upstairs to prepare for the evening meal. She made her toilet in a kind of dream, stopping in the middle of it to read again the precious letter. While her eyes devoured the words of love he had inscribed, the uncertainties and doubts for the future faded and left her with a song of joy in her heart. The burden of it was the glorious fact that George was alive; he was well; he loved her! What more could she wish for?

She entered the parlour where supper was served. Jearsey and his wife were already seated. There was a third figure at the table; some one who rose to greet her with extended hand. It was Piet. He was smiling and looking well and happy. Not a trace of disappointment remained on his broad face. He was more like an accepted than a discarded lover. Margery wondered, as she glanced at him, whether he had already consoled himself with some Dutch maiden of Pulicat.

“Good day, Margery,” he said in a cheerful voice, as he gave her hand a long and hearty shake. “I am very glad to get back to the Fort and find myself in my old place again at my good aunt’s table.”

“And we are pleased to see you,” said his aunt before Margery could reply. “The house has been very dull without you.”

He looked at Margery, as though waiting to hear the corroboration of Mrs. Jearsey’s sentiments from her lips. As it did not come he said:

“I have come back for business as well as pleasure. The busy time is just beginning. We shall see the roads full of shipping before long, ships great and small. I hate the look of the sea without the fleet of vessels.”

“So do I, Piet,” said Jearsey. “I don’t trouble about the big home-going ships belonging to the Company. What I want to see are the coasters. They mean business to you and me. What are you shipping next?”

Uncle and nephew fell into business talk, and Margery was glad to find that she was not expected to join in the conversation. She could let her thoughts wander and continue the dream that had resulted from the receipt of her letter.

Piet watched her closely but furtively. He had thought to find her looking anxious and worn. He had seen enough to guess how matters stood with her, and why he had been rejected. He was puzzled by the look of joy that was in her eyes and about her mouth. Suddenly he broke off talking of firewood, chillies and coco-nuts, and turned to his aunt;

“I saw Captain Bett this morning. He tells me that they are hoping to have a fresh draft of men out from England for garrison purposes. He hopes to be able to reinforce Cuddalore, Conimere, Masulipatam, and perhaps the Sumatra factories. Men are wanted badly, he says, at Bencoolen.”

“We have no enemy there,” remarked Jearsey.

“The natives have lately given trouble, and those employed in the factory are unruly for want of European supervision,” replied Piet with authority, as though he had mastered the details thoroughly.

“Bencoolen is not a fit place for the English soldier. The climate is bad and the discipline in the absence of efficient officers is worse. The men poison themselves with drink and drugs in the native town,” said Jearsey.

“Bett had hinted that one or two corporals who have had some training might be sent with the new men to Sumatra.”

Piet’s eyes were upon Margery, who was studying the tablecloth and did not seem to be following the conversation.

“It’s throwing good lives away,” continued his uncle with a touch of indignation. “Heaven knows we want them badly enough on the Coromandel coast, where the people are unsettled and more disturbed than I have ever known them before. It is the gradual approach of the Moghul. You don’t know, Piet, until you see it for yourself, how it upsets the inland trade. It may not matter so much to the Company, but it paralyses our operations.”

“Perhaps the council will have enough men to supply all places,” said Piet.

His uncle took no notice of the interruption; but went on in increasing indignation.

“When the Company has been at the expense of bringing out the men and training them, it seems sheer folly to send them to a climate where they can’t live. However, it is their business and not mine, though I shall suffer if the inland trade is not protected sufficiently. Come down to the office, Piet. I want to show you the invoices of the goods I have bought for you since you have been away.”

The following morning, after Jearsey had gone out, Margery stole down to the office. Two or three clerks were busy with the books.

“Give me a few palm leaves for the house accounts,” she said to the head clerk.

He handed her a packet, and with a word of thanks she ran upstairs to her room.

It was not an easy matter to write with a pin, and she spoilt a leaf or two before she could do it to her satisfaction. She would like to have filled several leaves with all she had to say, but she confined herself, as George had done, to the one.

That afternoon found Margery on the beach with the mothers and their children. She helped Davie to build his fort, and during the operations she managed to pass the palm leaf to Solomon.

Every three days Creede contrived to send her a few lines written with the stylus, and Solomon was the faithful bearer. He carried back the answers, and when Margery would have rewarded him he refused her offer.

“His Honour was good to me when I was in trouble,” he said. “Now he is in trouble I can repay.”

A few mornings after her interview with the bearer Margery heard the guns on the saluting battery and the reply from the sea. The sound stirred the Fort and its inhabitants from the oldest to the youngest. One of the Company’s ships was coming to anchor in the roads. With the advent of the ship the exiles were linked up with the old country in a way that moved all hearts. Only six months ago the vessel had sailed down the English Channel, and the eyes of the men and women on board rested on the green fields, the bursting blossom of the fruit trees and the tender verdure of the early summer foliage.

There was a rush to the beach of all who could spare half an hour. The market was neglected; the women sat with empty baskets waiting for their mistresses, whose gaze was riveted on the masulah boats that were already clustered round the vessel.

Passengers were sent ashore as soon as possible, the captain being glad to have them out of the way while the crew and the Company’s porters handled the cargo. All day long the workers chanted their song of labour, as they heaved and lifted the heavy bales, and slung them over the sides of the ship into the surf boats. The sea was quiet now, but the Coromandel coast is never without its breakers. The bay of Bengal is no summer sea with a millpond surface.

Some of the passengers were remaining at Fort St. George; others were bound for ports farther east on the other side of the Bay. The ship was to go across, calling at Sumatra and Java as well as Penang.

The unloading of cargo for the Fort and the loading up of goods destined by the council for the east would take ten days. The news rejoiced the hearts of all alike. There would be the more time to hear of the old country and of all the doings political and social. The new arrivals spoke of everything as though they had only left their homes yesterday. The six months that had elapsed counted as nothing and the information was given in the present tense. For them the apple blossom was still on the trees and the bluebells unfaded.

The ship brought its mail bags; and letters were distributed in every direction. Even Bett and Jearsey were not forgotten by the relatives from whom they had been so long separated. There were many little items of news in these letters that formed the subject of much questioning on the part of the recipients, when they could secure the ear of an arrival; and great was the joy if by chance some mutual acquaintance could be discovered. It was sufficient if a home village or town were known and the changes that had taken place could be described in detail.

All too quickly for everybody concerned the time passed and the hour of departure drew near. There was no tide to wait for in those waters. The captain chose the minute according to his convenience, and he usually made it an hour before sunset. It gave time for the crew and passengers to shake down into their places before darkness came on.

Margery with her spirits wonderfully revived was able to join in all the festivities given in honour of the visitors. Her heart ached sometimes for the presence of her lover; for a sight of him; for the sound of his voice in her ear as he whispered the words of love with which he filled his short letters. In spite of his absence she managed to enjoy herself amazingly; and was as full of regret as the rest of the community when the day dawned for the passengers, bound for the more distant ports, to go aboard.

She was one of the crowd standing on the beach a little to the north of the Sea Gate, to watch the embarkation. The Muckwas lifted the passengers bodily amid much laughter and carried them through the surf. The boats were rowed away by eight or ten strong fishermen; and a little later there was a waving of pocket-handkerchiefs from the ship and the shore. Margery waved hers so vigorously that there was a reply from the fo’castle, where the men intended for the garrisons of the distant ports were grouped. Some one laughed and asked her if she had a sweetheart on board. The careless bit of chaff suddenly sobered her and she became thoughtful. She shook off her gravity; George had said nothing about leaving the Fort in his letters; he had begged her to keep a brave heart and a confident hope that all would be well in the end.

The anchor was weighed while the little crowd of Europeans watched from the shore. The white sails filled and the ship moved away, going south where the monsoon was not quite so strong. She was to touch at Cuddalore for bales of red-bordered cotton cloths such as the Burmese affected. It would only delay them a few hours to take these on board, and the passengers would not be able to land. The masulah boats going out by way of the river would be waiting for the arrival of the ship in the roads.

Many homesick hearts were left behind as the vessel was lost to sight in the twilight. Margery did not suffer from the terrible sensation of having been left behind on a foreign shore, that is common to those who watch the departure of the ship that has brought them out from home. The man she loved was still in the Fort, able to send her a word of reassurance now and then although he could not see her.

She told herself that she must be thankful for small mercies. Again she preached patience to an impatient heart. There were times when she craved for the touch of his hand; the pressure of his arms about her; the soft lingering kiss of his lips. This was the longing that the sight of the ship had raised as she walked back to Jearsey’s house.

On the way she met Piet. He was smiling to himself as he walked along. Some successful deal occupied his thoughts, she said to herself. It could not have been in connexion with the Company’s ship. Neither Piet nor his uncle were ever known to go beyond the inland trade which was their legitimate sphere.

“You have been to see the passengers off!” he said, stopping for a minute. “The ship is a fine vessel, one of the latest built of the fleet.”

“I didn’t notice that you were on the beach,” she remarked.

“I had a good view of the vessel as she went out of the roads from the veranda of my house in the Blacktown. I have just been to look for my uncle. He is not at home.”

“He went away from the beach in the direction of the market. You will find him there,” she replied, as she passed on.

Piet gazed after her with a broadening smile on his flat white face.

“The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” he said as he resumed his walk.

As Margery turned into the street in which Jearsey’s house stood, Sergeant Ryan stopped her. She knew him by sight but had never spoken with him.

“Can I have a few words with you, madam?” he asked.

“With pleasure. What is it, sergeant? Anything I can do for you?” she said, looking up at him with no suspicion of evil tidings.

“I have a message for you from one John Mitchell, corporal,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Yes?” she replied breathlessly, as her heart gave a bound.

“He begged me to see you alone and tell you that you are to believe nothing that you hear. He sent you his dear love, his undying love.”

There was wonder in her gaze as her eyes rested on his.

“I don’t quite understand; but please tell him that I will do as he bids me. You have brought me no letter?” she asked.

“There was no time for him to write; therefore he asked me to give you the message.”

The sergeant repeated it, adding that Mitchell’s last words were that all would be well.

“I am afraid that I can’t give him any message,” he concluded, looking at her with compassion.

“Why not?” she asked sharply.

“Corporal John Mitchell sailed to-day for Bencoolen in charge of a draft of five men for the garrison there.”.

Chapter XXIII

It was Christmas Day of the year 1687. The little colony of English men and women made a valiant attempt to keep the day in accordance with the traditions of the distant home on the other side of the globe. They roasted large joints of beef and set steaming plum-puddings on the table. It did not do to inquire too closely into the method of making Christmas puddings in a land where the pudding raisin was unknown. Some substitute was provided which satisfied the eye if not the taste.

There was a large muster in church where Mr. Elliot gave a long discourse; the congregation sat through it with a patience that would put the present churchgoer to shame.

The orphans of the Vestry Charity were clothed in new frocks and coats. The poor received doles; and all the subordinates in the Company’s service, including the slaves who toiled in the warehouses, made holiday as well as their superiors.

Foremost in all deeds of benevolence and goodwill to mankind came the President. Yet though liberal he knew when to hold his hand. The punchbowl, so eagerly hailed by the soldiers on these occasions, was limited. Excess was not allowed, and restraint was put upon some of the wild bloods, who would have brought disgrace upon themselves if they had not been held in check. In nothing did Yale spare himself on this bright sunny Christmas morning.

Dressed in his robes of state and accompanied by his bodyguard he proceeded straight from the church to the spot where the charity children were assembled. The little ones, waifs and strays of mixed blood, were boarded out at that period with widows who were country-born and knew no other home but India. The chaplain superintended the arrangements and made the necessary payments. The children attended the day-school in the Fort for which the Company provided an English schoolmaster. The room used as a school was decorated on this occasion with ropes of green leaves and garlands of pink oleander blossoms. The tables were spread with the usual Christmas fare.

The children stood in rows down the room; and eyes that had been fastened on the food were now focussed on the awe-inspiring figure of the Governor himself.

Yale went round the room, smiling and speaking a word here and there to the “Church orphans” as they were called. The inspection over, the children took their places at the tables and Mr. Elliot said grace. The schoolmaster and his assistant, the church clerk, began to carve; and the President’s duty, as far as the children were concerned, was over.

At the Choultry the native poor were ranged in much the same order before pots full of boiled rice and highly seasoned curry. Here a similar inspection took place; and although the recipients of the charity were mostly heathen, Mr. Elliot again said grace.

From the Choultry the party moved on to the barracks, where the soldiers were all assembled with the Christmas fare laid out on the trestle boards. Here the proceedings were slightly varied. A bowl of punch, the forerunner of many similar bowls to come, was brought in with great ceremony by Sergeant Ryan. Glasses were filled for the President and council and for the officers of the garrison. The President proposed the health of the King, which was drunk amidst cheers. He next gave the health of the Company, coupled with the name of the Chairman, Sir Josiah Child.

The Commandant, Captain James Bett, begged to be allowed to speak. There was a good-natured smile on the faces of those who had lived in the Fort for some time as the veteran officer stepped forward, glass in hand. All were aware of what was coming, for the old man went through the same ceremony every Christmas.

He alluded to the fact that he had known the Fort from early days. He remembered it before its walls were finished. He felt that he was a son of the Company and an aged one, too; for he had grown old in its service. He had had the honour of serving under as many as five Governors. He asked his men, when their punch bowls came round presently, not to forget to drink the health of the Honourable Mr. Elihu Yale, the worthy successor of one of the greatest men he had ever known, Sir Streynsham Master. When the hearty cheering which followed had subsided, the President said a few words of thanks for the honour they were going to do him and departed.

There was an hour to dinner, which in consideration of the festive occasion was a little later than usual at the Fort House. The gentlemen, who had to accompany the President officially on his round, were glad of an interval which would allow of a return to their rooms to exchange their heavy cloth coats for something lighter. It happened that Yale and Bett found themselves for a short space of time the only occupants of the sitting-room where the gentlemen assembled before moving into the dining-hall.

“This is not good news about the Moghul, sir, that has come in to-day,” said Bett. “His flag is said to be flying over the Fort at St. Thoma and at Chingleput.”

“So I am told; but so far no hostile act on his part has been perpetrated towards the English,” replied Yale. “I think he is disposed to be friendly.”

“Yes; towards us personally, but I wouldn’t answer for his followers if they chanced to come across one of our convoys,” answered Bett. “ hey would not be able to resist looting it.”

“I am afraid our porters and topazes would bolt and just leave our goods at their mercy.”

“If the Moghul intended to attack us,” continued Bett, “he would have done so before he went south; but he knows better than to risk defeat and rout. Our guns are too strong for him,” he concluded with the pride of the soldier in his weapons of war.

“He is here for loot more than conquest, in my opinion. Our guns are quite sufficient to protect us from marauders; but I am not so confident about our factories on the coast. We ought to send reinforcements to the garrisons at Cuddalore, Porto Novo and Connimere. Not one of them is properly fortified or guarded,” said the President.

He looked at Bett as though he would ask if more men could be spared from Fort St. George. The old man replied to the unspoken query.

“We can’t spare a single man,” he said with a finality that Yale knew was decisive. “I grudged parting with those men to Sumatra three weeks ago. The Dutch are not in the least likely to attack us, and Bencoolen doesn’t need a garrison beyond that which can be made out of the native troops and the Company’s peons. It is throwing away good material. I fear that half of them are dead by this time; the rest will be eaten up with the country sickness, ague, and be of no use. The one I regret is John Mitchell; there was waste of a first-rate soldier.”

“I regret it too,” replied Yale shortly.

“You need not regret having shipped him to Bencoolen, sir, so much as losing him before he got there.”

“I sent him to his death,” replied Yale. “And yet I had good reason for my action at the time. It was only afterwards that we came to the conclusion that he could not have been the man we wanted. The kidnapping ceased for five or six weeks while Mitchell was on duty here in the garrison, but it has broken out again. The widow O’Neale lost a promising lad last week. The boy disappeared in the same mysterious manner as my wife’s maid.”

“It was not your fault that Mitchell met with his death. If he was fool enough to try and fill a bucket over the ship’s side, who could save him? The pull of the bucket with its long rope drew him down and he was drowned. I had a full account of the accident from a man who landed a few days ago from Bencoolen. Mitchell’s absence wasn’t discovered for some hours after. One of the men saw him take the bucket and go aft, saying he intended to fetch some sea water to have a wash. They found the rope tied to the bulwark, but the bucket was gone. It is not an easy job to dip a bucket when the ship has much way on it.”

Yale listened to the excuses Bett had for his own conduct. The President might be hasty; but he was just.

“I was in too great a hurry to punish him,” said Yale.

“The evidence was very strong against Mitchell,” said Bett, determined to make the best of it. “I was deceived myself, and I’ve had more experience than you, sir, if you will allow me to say so. It is certain that he went to Jearsey’s sally-port with a boat on the evening the girl was missed. There was a woman’s footmark with his, as if she had been forced to wear shoes. We identified his shoes, but we had no means of identifying hers.”

“Native servants don’t wear European shoes as a rule,” remarked Yale.

“Unless they are forced to do so. If it wasn’t her foot, whose could it have been? I still believe that she was taken away through the sally-port while the family was at supper. One or more of Jearsey’s slaves must have had a hand in it. But Mitchell was not the man who arranged for kidnapping her.”

“Then Mitchell ought not to have been transported. He appealed against it and begged to be permitted to remain in the Fort.”

Yale relapsed into silence. He was not a man to spare himself when he found himself in the wrong, and his conscience troubled him over his treatment of the corporal.

The entrance of Higgenson put a stop to further conversation on the subject. He was followed by others, and the announcement of dinner gave the President other things to think of. He had to play host in the name of the Company to the large circle that had gathered round him. In addition to the members of the Company and the officers of the garrison, the invitation had been extended to the free merchants of the place.

The resources of the steward, the butler and the chief cook, all Europeans, were strained to the utmost in providing for such a party. Besides the traditional roast beef, there were ducks and capons, teal and snipe, such as would have done honour to any English table at home. In quantity, enough was provided to feed double the number of guests; but this was not carelessness on the part of the cook and butler. They remembered that their own Christmas dinner and that of their families would be made off what was left after their masters had been served.

The liquor consisted of claret, madeira, port and Armenian wines. For those who preferred it beer was to be had. But the beer had travelled far and had suffered from the voyage. Most of the guests preferred the claret and madeira.

After the cloth was removed the butler brought in a large silver punch bowl and filled glasses for the company all round. Toasts were proposed and speeches were made which prolonged the dinner until sunset. Then Yale rose, his subordinates following his example, and the party dispersed to spend the evening as each considered fit.

While the President received the gentlemen of the Fort, his wife entertained the ladies, among whom were Mrs. Jearsey, Mrs. Bridger, Madame Chardin and Margery. When dinner was over the dining-room was cleared and the children joined the party. Christmas Day had fallen on a Sunday; this year Mrs. Yale relaxed the Sunday observance for the sake of the little ones. Some jugglers were admitted to amuse them and their elders for an hour or so, and the romps of the weekday were dispensed with. Meanwhile the usual gossip went on, and the names of the two contending princes, the invader and the invaded, entered largely into the conversation.

“Is dere no fear of de Fort being attacked?” asked Madam Chardin with her pretty French accent.

Mrs. Yale, being the wife of the President, was looked to as an authority who might give the most satisfactory reply to a question that was in the mind of every one present.

“My husband has no fear for the Fort; but is far from satisfied about the condition of the factories on the coast. They are not fortified and have no garrisons worth speaking of.”

“Ah! there’s Cuddalore, for instance,” remarked Mrs. Bridger. “How alarmed Mrs. Nicks must be!”

“She has a brave spirit and never seems afraid of anything. All the same, I have written and asked her to come here for a short time. We shall soon know if the Moghul means to be friendly or not. She will bring her children. Her husband can take ship at any time if he feels that it will be wise to do so.”

“Has she accepted your invitation?” asked Margery, rousing herself out of deep thought.

“She promises to be with us by New Year’s Bay.”

“I hear that Mrs. Nicks has invited you to go to Cuddalore when she returns, Margery,” said Mrs. Bridger.

“She sent me a letter a month ago asking if I would help her with the children. I am quite ready to do so, and I hope she will take me back with her.”

Margery spoke sadly in spite of the pleasure she expressed at the arrangement. Mrs. Bridger’s motherly heart ached for her. She had known something of what had passed between Creede and Margery; and it was not difficult to guess that he had had a good deal to do with the breaking off of her engagement with Piet. The death of John Mitchell was not known, however. Both Yale and Bett had kept the news to themselves, believing the man to be some chance stranger thrown up by the sea; who for the convenience of claiming the hospitality of the Company, had represented himself to be one of their sailors.

“Work is a good thing for a sore heart, dearie,” said Mrs. Bridger softly.

Margery gave her a grateful glance, but did not trust herself to reply. Davie’s voice was heard calling her to come and look at the wonders which the jugglers were unfolding.

“How does Piet’s house get on?” asked Mrs. Bridger of the Dutch lady who was sitting near.

“Not at all; it is just as it was three months ago. We want him to finish it and live there; but he says that he prefers to stay in the Blacktown.” She lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “Poor boy! He has felt his jilting!”

“Is he still broken-hearted?”

“I am afraid so. The other day he begged Margery to reconsider her decision and marry him. It shows how forgiving and kind he is; he has never lost his temper with her or reproached her for her bad treatment of him.”

“And she would not listen?”

“She would have nothing to say to him. I can’t think what ails her. She seems turned to stone.”

“And Piet?”

“Oh! he reads his Bible like a good lad and submits to the Lord’s will. He has his reward, for he is making money. Some day we shall see him a rich man; Miss Margery may go a long way before she finds a better husband than our Piet.”

The day ended at last with all its feasting and fun, which seemed a mockery to the unhappy Margery. She was invited to stay on with other friends for supper; but she felt that another four or five hours of festivity would be intolerable. Up to the present she had made a good pretence of enjoying what was in reality only an aggravation to her heartache. Her endurance was at an end, and she must get away on some pretence or other to the solitude of her own room.

She pleaded a headache and escaped. In the darkening twilight she walked slowly up Middle Street. On reaching the end that opened into the space in front of the Fort House she turned towards the Sea Gate and went through on to the sands where the wind blew fresh and cool from the north-east.

The sea under the eastern sky was a deep indigo with broad lines of purple marking the distance. Where it touched the shore it broke into surf of a snowy whiteness; a narrow fringe only at this season and holding no perils for the boatmen.

Margery’s thoughts flew backwards. It was not quite three months ago when she had stood there with the blasts of the cyclone sweeping the big seas on to the shore and blowing the surf about her feet. In fancy she saw the Muckwas toiling along with their double burden. She looked again into the eyes of the half-drowned man, fixed wonderingly upon her. It was then that the knowledge came to her of her real feeling towards him. It was then that she knew she loved him. She would never be able to give her love to another even if she lived to be a hundred.

Where was he at this present moment? Was he keeping Christmas with the rough men of the garrison at Bencoolen? How he would hate it! Would he find some opportunity of sending her a letter by a returning ship? One of the Company’s vessels had come in only three days ago from the west coast and the farther east. If it were only a few lines on a palm leaf it would be like water to a parched and drooping plant. Some one approached from behind. She turned quickly and found herself face to face with the Dutchman. His conduct towards her had been exemplary in every way and she had no fear of him.

“Good evening, Margery,” he said as he came up. His voice was gentle and his manner deferential. “I hope you have had a merry Christmas. How is it that you are not with the ladies at the President’s house, where I hear that my aunt intends to stay to supper?”

“I dined with Mistress Yale; but something has given me a megrim, and I thought it would be best to spend the evening quietly with Mr. Jearsey, who will be in to supper. What have you been doing all day, Piet?”

She spoke listlessly and asked the question because she wished to turn the conversation from herself.

“I dined with the rest at the Fort House.”

“And have you only just now broken up your party?”

“I left the revellers some time ago and went to the barracks to see if I could do anything to amuse the soldiers.”

“From all accounts they can amuse themselves very well at a season like this in their own way,” said Margery.

“The President hoped there would be no excesses this Christmas. He was pleased that I should take the trouble to go and see the men. I sat chatting with any who were disposed to talk.”

Margery had an inward conviction that she ought to approve of his well-meant effort; but she was not in an amiable humour. Some contrary spirit made her inclined to scoff.

“You mean any who could still sit up and listen after their potations of punch. Did you join them in drinking the President’s health?”

“I don’t touch strong drinks, as you know, Margery,” he said in a reproachful tone.

“Ah, of course! I remember; it is strange how quickly one forgets when circumstances alter.”

The fading light was too dim for her to see the frown of annoyance that passed over his brow. She was not sparing him.

“I met an interesting man in the barrack-room, one Henry Burton,” said Piet, his voice as smooth and even as usual. “He had just arrived from Bencoolen, where he has been very ill with the country ague. Several men died, but he recovered; and the doctor at Bencoolen thought that the climate here might set him up.”

“Bencoolen!” repeated Margery in a voice that she found difficult to command.

“In Sumatra on the west coast. That was where the ship was going which called here some time ago. It was very pleasant having the passengers among us for ten days. We were all very sorry when they left,” continued Piet, watching her as closely as was possible in the dim light.

While he spoke Margery had time to pull herself together. A question was burning on her tongue. It could only be put casually and with an assumption of indifference she was far from feeling.

“I think they were sorry to go,” she observed. “We gave them a hearty welcome. I hope they all arrived safely?”

Her eyes were on the horizon, where a brilliant star was rising out of the sea. She was glad that the darkness partially hid her face, for she felt the hot blood mount to her forehead.

“I asked Burton about the ship and if it came safely to port. As it happened it arrived three days before the man left. Yes; they had a quick and good voyage across the Bay.”

Margery drew a breath of relief which was half a sigh. She turned away; there was nothing more that she could hope to learn. The simple fact that he had arrived safely must suffice.

“There was one casualty,” observed Piet. “I was forgetting to mention it; but it will not interest you.”

“Why not? What was it?” she asked quickly.

“It was among the troops who were sent across for the garrison,” he went on with an increasing deliberation which drove her nearly mad.

“Yes? What happened?”

“A soldier—I don’t think you ever heard his name—John Mitchell by name, fell overboard as he was dipping a bucket over the side of the ship.”

Piet made as though he would move on; she stopped him.

“Did they pick him up? He was—he must have been a strong swimmer being a sailor.”

She hung upon his words. Why was he so slow over his tale? yet she dared not show any emotion that might lead to an inquiry as to the real identity of John Mitchell.

“You see, no one knew when the accident happened. He was drowned.” Piet paused and then repeated the statement. “Yes; he was drowned. It was a loss to the Company. They say at the barracks that he had the makings of a good soldier in him. He had had some education, although he was only a common fellow. It was sad; but perhaps it was better to be drowned outright, than to die by inches of the ague, as this man tells me is the case with nine out of ten Englishmen who go to Bencoolen. Good night, Margery. Sleep well and rest in the Lord.”

He left her, walking towards the Blacktown by the beach. She turned and passed through the Sea Gate, which would soon be closed for the night. She was stricken dumb by the blow that had been delivered by her rejected lover. George drowned! George dead! He had been dead for weeks and she had not known it. The thought stunned her.

Like one in a nightmare she walked home and went straight up to her room. She undressed and went to bed. The ayah moved noiselessly about, putting away and tidying things.

“Shall I bring missie some supper?” she asked as she ended her task.

“I want nothing, thank you. Go downstairs and do not let anyone come to disturb me.. My head pains me and my eyes are heavy,” she said with difficulty.

“It is that missie has been too much in the sun,” replied the woman as she closed the door after her.

Margery turned her face to her pillow to stifle the sobs that shook her with cyclonic violence. Her grief, great as it was, must be borne in silence and secrecy.

Chapter XXIV

January in South India is one of the best months in the year. The weather is genial and pleasant. The nights are cool and the days sunny and warm without being over-poweringly hot. The north-east rains of November and the showers of December have ended. Tropical vegetation, luxuriant and beautiful, springs up with magical rapidity everywhere. Even the sand just beyond the reach of the sea foam has patches of the goat’s footcreeper adorning its pale yellow expanse.

At daybreak on New Year’s Eve a smart little brig sailed into the roads of Madras. She was about two hundred tons burden, country built as to her hull and fitted with sails and cordage of English make. She saluted the Fort flag with her small piece of ordnance and came to anchor in front of the Sea Gate close in to shore.

Nine o’clock was just striking as Mrs. Nicks and her three little girls landed from the John and Katherine. They walked to the Sea Gate, where some of Kitty’s friends, having heard the gun, were waiting to give her a warm and hearty greeting. Margery clung to her for a few seconds, silent and trembling and unable to speak. The arm that held the girl seemed to give her strength and consolation as well as sympathy.

Mrs. Nicks did not monopolize all the attention, however; she had to share it this time with her family. Mrs. Bridger already had the tiny Jane in her arms and was making much of her. The sun even at that season had more power than was good for the little people. Kitty hurried along, vowing that there would be plenty of time for baby-worship later on. Mrs. Yale met her at the door of her house.

“I hope you have had a good voyage,” she said in her gentle voice.

“It was most delightful with the sea quiet and a steady breeze. I could have sailed on another month with pleasure. You must come on board one evening and see how comfortable I have made the John and Katherine.”

They proceeded upstairs, where Davie and his sisters were peering over the banisters. Behind them stood their attendants, full of anxiety lest the children in their excitement should fall over. Mrs. Nicks lifted her godson and hugged him,

“How is the Fort getting on, Davie? Is it finished yet?”

“Yes; quite done finished,” he replied, using an idiom of speech learned from the servants. “Solomon says that we must build the school now.”

“That’s right! When it is finished I will cut out some little boys in paper to put in it.”

Davie did not express any gratitude; on the contrary, he was inclined to resent her kind offer as an insult.

“I am going to have real boys in my school; I don’t want paper boys.”

“Oh! very well; sonnie shall have what he likes.”

His head fell gently forward on her shoulder and he sighed deeply. She felt his brow and looked keenly into his face.

“The child doesn’t seem quite himself; is anything the matter?” she asked, turning to his mother.

“Maybe he is a little feverish; but it is nothing more,” replied Mrs. Yale placidly. “He is like that sometimes; but he sleeps and eats well, so there can’t be anything wrong.”

She had had three or four children by her first husband, and had reared her boys without much trouble; boys who were growing up into men. A little flagging on the part of these her younger children did not alarm her.

“I know what ails Davie,” cried Cathie. “He was a naughty boy on the beach the other day. He threw away his hat when the sun was on him. Mary was the only one who could make him wear his hat. Since she has gone he has often been naughty and thrown it off.”

“Oh, Davie, you must always keep it on or the sun will burn your head and give you fever!”

The child shook his head petulantly as he replied:

“Don’t want a hat; want a wig like Dadda’s. Only little boys wear hats. Big men wear wigs and I’m a big man now.”

The voice was weak and spiritless; and the fretfulness denoted sickness. Kitty soothed him and handed him back to his mother.

“You must give Davie a cooling mixture to-night. That is how the mischief began with my own sweet sonnie. It is the hot sun by day and the cold air by night which brings on the ague. Now I must go and see after my own chicks.”

Later in the morning the President came in and greeted his old friend warmly.

“I am very glad you have come to stay with us, Kitty. All European women are best within the walls of the Fort just now.”

She laughed at his croakings as she called them.

“I am not a bit afraid of Moghul or Mahratta. It is as well to be prepared for them, whether one is afraid or not. A dozen or so of sturdy, Englishmen of the type of John Mitchell would put to flight a whole army of natives.”

“John Mitchell, I am sorry to say, is not here,” said Yale, anticipating a repetition of the request that he might be sent to Cuddalore.

Kitty turned and looked at the President with one of her sharp comprehensive glances before she put the next question.

“Why is he not here? If you intended to send him on duty to any of the other factories, he should have come to us. I made the first request for him, and therefore my claim should have been considered first.”

“We thought it best that he should go to Sumatra, as we were obliged to send a small detachment to Bencoolen.”

“Was there any reason for getting rid of him so suddenly?”

Yale did not answer immediately, and Kitty went on pressing him with questions, determined to make him tell the story.

“What was there against him?” she asked. “Had he committed any crime? Did you want to punish him for personating a sailor on the Borneo?”

Yale was driven to making a reply at last.

“He fell under the suspicion of being a slave-trader.”

“As I did!” she quickly rejoined in a low voice, as if she was speaking to herself.

Yale caught the words and he felt bound to justify himself.

“We knew for certain that he was not what he represented himself to be, John Mitchell of the Borneo,” he said after a pause. “Goodwyn led me to believe that he did not know him. I had certain information that Mitchell visited Jearsey’s house on the evening that Mary was missing. The girl herself was seen going towards the house earlier in the evening.”

“Who saw her? asked Kitty quickly.

“It was none other than Piet Vandenberg. I learned from another source that a European answering to John Mitchell’s description was at the sally-port with a boat unknown to Jearsey and his wife.”

“Did you hear anything else?” asked Kitty, with an impatience she found hard to control.

“I was assured also that a European answering to Mitchell’s appearance had been seen shipping natives as passengers in the St. Thoma River. The evidence was not strong enough for me to prosecute him, so I sent him to Bencoolen.”

“I suppose the information about the St. Thoma River was given you by the same person.”

Yale made no comment on her supposition, which was put in the form of a question. His face was turned from her and he relapsed into a moody silence. Her eyes seemed to be reading him through and through.

“You still think Mitchell guilty or you would have recalled him,” remarked Kitty.

“Guilty or not guilty, I can’t do anything now. Unfortunately Mitchell is dead. He fell overboard on the voyage across the Bay and was drowned.”

Kitty made no comment, but waited to hear what more he had to say. He interpreted her silence as a desire to hear more.

“I don’t think that there was any doubt about his having gone to Jearsey’s sally-port that night, Kitty. You were in the house at the time, I believe. Can you throw any light upon the matter and suggest a reason for his visit?”

She raised her eyes to his, and the dimpling smile he knew so well curved her lips.

“Oh, Elihu, where is your youth? Is the presidential chair making an old mummy of you? Is it so very long ago that you have forgotten it, that you yourself crept out in the starlight to meet a girl you thought you loved?”

The colour spread over his face and his eyes fell before hers as she went on:

“Ah, I see! Your memory only wants jogging. Now you are an old staid married man, you don’t do such things; you leave them for others. But you must not forget that they are still done, and that the young people of to-day are walking in the ways of their elders.”

He raised his eyes to hers again and smiled with sudden enlightenment.

“Who was the lady?” he asked. “Not Margery Armadale?”

“And why not Margery?” asked Kitty, ready to champion her friend. “You are surprised that she should look twice on a man in the garrison? ’Twas you who put him there, although with half an eye you might have seen that men like Mitchell are not of the soldier class.”

“So, then, that was why she has broken her faith with the Dutchman! Poor little girl, I am afraid her happiness is wrecked,” said Yale.

“She is young, and when I get her to Cuddalore I hope to restore some of her happiness. She will have more chance of it there than with the Jearseys. I hear that Piet Vandenberg is renewing his suit.”

“To Cuddalore? You are not going back yet, Kitty; you must wait till the country is quieter.”

She laughed at him for his implied fears for her safety.

“Not I! There is nothing to fear but the dispersion of the weavers and the dyers. I have my ships and can go on board at any moment if there is any real danger.”

Voices sounded in the passage outside and Davie entered, followed by four little girls to whom he issued words of command.

“Hallo, my little Jack-among-the-maids, what a game you are having!” cried Mrs. Nicks, well pleased to see the child more like himself again.

“These are my bodyguard, godmother. See how nicely they march! Right about, turn! Halt!”

The laughing quartette in their long embroidered frocks obeyed Davie’s orders as he issued them. He marched them round the room; and Kitty, to the intense delight of the children, held up her hands in pretended amazement at their wonderful evolutions.

“To-morrow we will go and fight the Moghul and bring back Mary,” they cried as they continued their march and left the room.

“Davie has not forgotten Mary, I see,” observed Kitty.

“He no longer frets over the loss of her.”

Kitty turned to Yale and looked at him with a severity that was partly assumed.

“Now, Mr. President, I have two bones to pick with you and your council. With the first I exonerate you personally, for I am sure you had nothing to do with it. My complaint is against the members of your council, Higgenson in particular. You heard what they did just as I was starting for Cuddalore after my visit to the Bridgers?”

“Wavell told me. I was vexed beyond measure. It was very good of your husband not to lodge a complaint against Higgenson. It would have led to his removal if Nicks had pressed the matter. He is a useful man here and he will probably be my successor some day. How did you pacify Nicks?”

“Captain Goodwyn and I agreed that the least said the soonest mended. By the time I reached home my anger had burned down; and so the subject was not even mentioned. Goodwyn and I kept our counsel, and to this day John knows nothing about it.”

“That’s very kind of you, Kitty. I wish you and Higgenson were better friends.”

“A useless wish! He hates me, and it will be a bad day for me if he ever steps into your shoes. Long may you reign, Elihu, is the prayer of your humble servant.”

“Wouldn’t it be possible to promote a better feeling between you both?” began Yale.

“Not after what passed between us that morning,” rejoined Kitty decisively. “It was the funniest scene in the world!” She began to laugh at the recollection of Higgenson’s discomfiture. “I had the best of that search business, and he will never forgive me for his defeat.” She described the incident and how in the end he fled. Yale himself laughed at the tale. He could see Kitty with her effrontery heaping confusion on the unfortunate Higgenson by her audacious behaviour.

“Wavell and Metcalfe could not help being amused,” said Yale when she had finished her story. “But to this day they all three believe that you carried away some diamonds with you.”

“Pray leave them in the enjoyment of their belief!” she said, tossing her head with the old recklessness of Kitty Barker, the girl.

“There is only one little thing that puzzles them. If you really succeeded in getting diamonds out of the Golcondah merchants, why didn’t you do it when the men were with you at Cuddalore?”

“Because they were not in possession of them there.”

“Where were the diamonds? Chardin saw the stones himself when he was at Golcondah. Those that were offered to us here were inferior, although the merchants stuck to it that they were the best that they had brought.”

“They were right. Those offered to the council were the best that came into the Fort with the merchants.”

“And the stones that were missing, where were they?”

“I think, Mr. President, it would be a good thing for the Company if you and your clever council studied the ways of the country a little more closely. The most valuable diamonds were probably carried on the person of a particularly dirty beggar man, who doubtless begged his way from Golcondah to Fort St. George, and cursed every one lustily who came near his sacred person.”

“Did you see the man as you came along the road?”

“Not I! or if I did I took him for one of those begging ascetics who for various reasons are best avoided. No; granting that the diamonds were in my possession—mind, I don’t say that they were—it would take a cleverer person than Mr. Higgenson to find them.”

“He believes now that Goodwyn had them, and he regrets that he did not search him.”

“Do tell Mr. Higgenson with my compliments that they were not carried by Captain Goodwyn. It may ease his mind. Also inform him that if he wishes to search me when I leave the Fort this time, I shall be glad if he will make an appointment with me in—my dressing-room, where we shall have more privacy than we had last time.”

“Kitty! You make me blush!” said Yale, laughing. “Now what is the second bone that you have to pick with me?”

“It was to have been your breaking faith with me over John Mitchell. You left me to believe that he was to accompany me to Cuddalore. You or Captain Bett sent Sergeant Ryan instead: an excellent man, but not the one I wanted.”

“I have explained how it was that I could not fulfil my promise.”

“Another mare’s nest over this mysterious kidnapping. However, as the poor man is dead there is nothing more to be said, and I forgive you,” said Kitty without a trace of the annoyance she might well have shown.

“I am sorry now that I did not send him with you. I might have saved myself from an act of injustice that lies heavy on my conscience.”

“Do you know who Mitchell was?” asked Kitty.

“No. Do you? He has been a mystery to me ever since he was washed ashore,” said Yale, looking at her in some surprise.

“He was George Creede of Bristol, the owner of the Raven and the man who defied the Directors, bless him! He was on board when the ship went down, and being a strong swimmer he managed to get ashore; but he nearly died in the effort.”

“Creede!” repeated Yale in astonishment. “Then Goodwyn must have known him.”

“As well as he might have known his own son if he had one. Goodwyn served George’s father, and when the father died he served the son with equal fidelity.”

“I don’t quite understand how it was so. Goodwyn himself told me that he did not know John Mitchell.”

“That was only a quibble. You asked Goodwyn if he knew John Mitchell. His reply was truthful, although it deceived you. He said he did not know John Mitchell.”

“And if I had inquired whether he knew the man before him, he might have answered differently?”

“That I cannot say. He was well aware that Creede would have been imprisoned and tried for an interloper if his identity was known. I don’t think Goodwyn would have allowed you to learn the fact from him.”

“Then the reason for your wishing to have Mitchell at Cuddalore was——?”

“To assist him to escape the wrath of the Directors and their high-handed and unjust punishment,” avowed Kitty boldly.

“And you encouraged his suit with Margery?”

“To the best of my endeavours, I did, Mr. President. I like a bold lover. I should have been one myself if I had been a man.”

There was a short silence, which Yale broke by asking where Goodwyn was at the moment.

“He has gone to Masulipatam. He hopes to get a ship at Nursapore; one that will take him back to England with luck.”

“I am sorry; very sorry that Creede met with his death as he did,” said Yale.

“You need not be sorry; he would have died at Bencoolen if you had left him there long enough,” observed Kitty philosophically. “It was a case of sooner or later, as it is with all the English who go there. As it happened it was sooner instead of later; so take heart, Elihu. No use crying over a lost life any more than it is crying over spilt milk. I wish you would tell me why you were so positive that he was in the slave trade.”

For answer he went to his bureau, unlocked a drawer and took out some papers which he laid before her. They were the papers of the Rampore which Piet had brought.

She bent over them and studied them one by one, puckering her brows and pursing up her red lips as she examined each closely.

“If they are genuine”—she paused and looked at Yale—“if they are genuine, the evidence goes dead against the master of the Rampore ,James Mitchell or Mitchem whichever it is.”

“Do you doubt them?” he asked in surprise.

“According to my way of doing business these papers are not quite in the usual order, although they seem to have been kept by a man who was familiar with the English method.”

She gathered the papers in her small firm hands and refolded them into a sheaf.

“Let me take them to my room and study them. I know as much as you do, Mr. President, about ship’s papers on a coaster; perhaps more. Where did you get these?”

He told her how they came into his possession, through the good office of Vandenberg, who had them from a Muckwa.

“The papers misled me badly,” he said. “James Mitchell must have been drowned with his cargo of so-called passengers.”

“If he ever existed,” said Kitty, rising and going to her room.

That afternoon she sought out Margery.

“My dear!” she said. “You are coming to me at once to help me with my little girls. They must be taken out on the beach morning and evening. You must give them a few lessons in the day and you must help me to put them to bed.”

Margery’s face lightened with sudden pleasure.

“It will be delightful’ “ she answered.

“But mind this! I can’t have long faces about me. We are all going to have a very happy time. If you have no happiness of your own you must borrow some from other people. Now, when will you begin your duties?”

“This very evening,” replied Margery, infected with the natural joyancy that was inseparable from the person of Mrs. Nicks.

“Very good; and I shall pay you from to-day. You will sleep at Jearsey’s, but you must live here during the day. You won’t be sorry to be out of Piet’s way, I am sure. That reminds me to ask if you have a scrap of paper with his writing on it. If you have, bring it over with you to-morrow morning.”

“You shall have something that he copied out for me for my good,” said Margery, laughing in her old manner. “I shall not want it back.”

“Did you see John Mitchell again after I left the Fort?” asked Kitty abruptly.

Margery gasped and clasped her fingers tightly as they interlocked.

“No; he was a prisoner.”

“You heard from him? he wrote you a letter now and then?”

“Yes; Solomon brought me a—a palm leaf sometimes; but who told you?” Then, as Kitty did not reply, Margery answered her own question. “Solomon told you.”

“When the letters ceased, did you have any other communication from John Mitchell?” demanded Mrs. Nicks.

“Only a message, just to tell me he loved me.” Margery was not far off tears by this time.

“Nothing else?”

“I was not to believe anything I heard,” she faltered.

“Least of all Piet Vandenberg. Cheer up, Margery. Methinks you are rather a bit of a fool after all! We will soon have you out of your melancholy and find you another lover. John Mitchell may be drowned, but there are others left.”

Chapter XXV

Margery took up her duties at once, and was happier for the occupation. Mrs. Nicks’ enigmatic words set her thinking over the meaning of the message faithfully delivered by Sergeant Ryan. Piet had told her the story of Mitchell’s death. She might not have been content to take his word alone for it; but the man who brought the tale spoke of it to others. The ship that carried Mitchell away from the Fort arrived at Bencoolen without him; and it was officially reported that he was drowned. She plucked up courage to ask Mrs. Yale if it was true that a soldier had been lost overboard, and had been told that it was. Mrs. Yale added that the man was unmarried and had no relatives dependent on him, which was well. His loss would bring a heartache to nobody.

To escape from a ship on the high seas was impossible. He could not leave it without a boat; and the boat would have to be provisioned and furnished with means of sailing. Sometimes she allowed herself to hope against hope. Then came the question, if he had escaped, why had he not communicated with her?

One day she boldly asked Kitty if John Mitchell was alive. To which Kitty replied at once. “No, my dear, he is not alive. Don’t ever expect to see John Mitchell again. There are plenty more like him.”

The evenings were spent by the children on the sands with their parents. Other ladies in the Fort having children joined them. The mothers gossiped while the little people built castles and dug moats.

The sea was calm and peaceful, and the roads were full of shipping. The breakers rolled lazily over the yellow sand with a soft murmur as though they were unwilling to do violence to the smallest creature.

On a certain evening the little company had gathered at the usual place, to the north of the Sea Gate, where the bastion gave some shelter from the afternoon sun. On arrival Davie had struggled out of Solomon’s arms in a hurry to take possession of his fort. Fort St. David, as the pile of sand was called, stood just above high-water mark. The bastions of sand remained intact with their driftwood guns, and the waterless moat was bridged with a piece of board. The fort contained a keep just large enough for the child to sit in. Before he settled down Solomon always swept and smoothed and rebuilt it under his little master’s directions till Davie was satisfied that it reached perfection.

Mrs. Yale and Kitty rested as English mothers still rest by the falling waves, looking on at the games of their children. Mrs. Yale glanced at the vessels lying at anchor.

“How trim and smart the John and Katherine is, Kitty! It must be pleasant to own a ship like yours,” she remarked.

“So it is. I sometimes feel tempted to make the voyage to England in her. I am sure she could do it, for she is about the size of the Globe, the first English ship that touched the Coromandel coast.”

“Ah! but there is something else to consider besides seaworthiness; there are pirates and the Dutch ready to rob and kill you. Even if you reached England safely, you would be looked upon with suspicion by the Company. By the way, how is Captain Goodwyn getting on?”

“He is buying himself another ship. She is being fitted at Nursapore. She ought to be ready for her voyage home before long.”

“Godmother!” cried Davie from his castle of sand. “See! I am in my fort now!”

The little girls stood round in admiration; and the nursery attendants, headed by Solomon, looked on approvingly. Davie was having homage enough to turn the head of the best President in the world. The child pulled off his hat and flung it over the walls of his fort.

“Solomon, I want my wig!”

The bearer twisted a bright red kerchief over the long curls. Its weight was sufficient to convince the boy that he had a head covering which was the proper and becoming crown suitable to his rank.

As Solomon tucked the comer of the kerchief, turban-fashion, into the folds, a shadow fell on his little master.

The man looked up with the superstitious fear of the Oriental of the evil which is supposed to follow the shadow of one person falling on another. When he recognized whose shadow it was, he bounded to his feet. Before any one knew what was happening, he had hurled himself against Domingo, the big African servant of Piet Vandenberg. The attack was so sudden and unexpected that both the men fell together on the sand.

“How dare you cast your evil shadow on my young master?” cried Solomon in his own tongue as he sprang to his feet with more agility than the African. “Have you been sent by your master to bring sickness upon the child? Get away and keep away lest your master should be wanting a slave who brings him no credit.”

The various other servants crowded round the two ready to protect Solomon should he be worsted in the encounter. It seemed that Vandenberg’s man was very unpopular with them. He was not of their nationality; his complexion was darker than theirs, and his mother tongue was different. Had it not been for the presence of the Englishwomen he might have experienced some rough handling. He picked himself up and scowled unpleasantly; then remembering himself, he assumed a humble, penitent expression and made a low salaam.

“I meant no harm, lady,” he said, addressing the wife of the President. “I only came to pay my respects to the brave young son of his Honour, the President.”

Kitty looked at the man keenly and recognized him as the person who had discovered the toys by the river banks, and had shown them to Yale. Her clear voice was raised to quell the growing murmur and to stop all further violence. She turned to the African.

“It was a great liberty to take to come so near the children. You are pardoned; go!”

Solomon glared at the negro with savage ferocity which was returned. In spite of Mrs. Nicks’ uplifted hand commanding silence, the bearer burst forth into speech.

“This is not the first time he has cast his evil eye on Master Davie. See how the child sickens under it.”

He pointed to the boy, who was leaning back languidly in his presidential seat, staring with frightened eyes at the disturber of their peace. Suddenly Davie sat up and pointing with his finger to the negro said in a high childish key, which electrified every native present:

“Bad man! where is my Mary?”

Even Mrs. Nicks started at the implied accusation. Yet it was only natural that Davie should conclude that the negro had something to do with stealing Mary, when he was so obviously trying to steal Solomon. The uproar among the servants recommenced. Mrs. Nicks, fearing serious trouble, said to Domingo:

“Go! Why don’t you go! you are not wanted here. Go!”

Muttering something that sounded like a threat against Solomon under his breath, the negro departed quickly. The ayahs crowded round the child and cracked their knuckles over its head to avert the evil. One of them drew a circle in the sand round the castle and waved her hands mysteriously in the air.

Tired and a little frightened, Davie began to cry. Mrs. Yale took him up in her arms and walked along the beach to the south, where they were less likely to meet any one than in the other direction. Mrs. Nicks followed, leaving the other children to return to their play.

Davie’s tears were soon dried and his attention was absorbed in watching the little crabs which fled before his mother’s footsteps as if they were feathers blown by the wind. She set him on his feet, so that he might peer down the holes into which they vanished.

He insisted on attempting to dig one out, and for some time she used the spade to please him in a search for what they would never find. As each spadeful of sand contained fresh treasures in the shape of yellow stones and pink shells, Davie was perfectly happy.

While Davie and his mother lingered to dig, Mrs. Nicks wandered on by herself till she came to the bastion at the south-east corner of the Fort. She and Margery had stood there on the morning of the cyclone and had watched the approach of the Muckwas with their burdens.

The grass under the influence of the rain had sprung up and clothed the ground since that day, bringing the velvet carpet of green to the very edge of the sand. On the slopes of the earthworks the lilac flowers of the goats-foot creeper opened their large convolvulus blossoms in the salt breeze. The long creeping tendrils bound the loose soil together and made it firm underfoot.

Tempted by the soft turfy path she turned her back on the sea and moved inland. On her left was the river Cooum bending towards the sea, which it never gained unless storm and cyclone opened the bar.

The Muckwas’ hamlet extended from the river bank along the beach towards St. Thoma. Between the river and the fort was a solitary hut with the thatched roof and circular mud walls common to all. It was half buried in the coarse grass which had grown up rank and unchecked around it.

Kitty looked idly at the hut as she went slowly forward. She was deeply occupied with her own thoughts. Margery had not forgotten to give her the transcript that Piet had written out in the days of his strange courting for his betrothed. At odd moments Kitty had placed it by the side of the papers of the Rampore and compared them with it. The oftener she studied them, the more convinced was she that one hand had penned them all. The writing on the ship’s papers was more crabbed and less legible than that of the other document. This was probably due to the fact that the writer had taken some pains to disguise his handwriting.

After much study she had tossed them together and returned the packet to Yale. He received them without a word; and when she asked him if he wished to have her opinion, he had replied that she might give it, if it pleased her so to do; but he warned her that he believed them to be genuine. He and Bett were satisfied that the James Mitchell of the Rampore had gone down with the ship and it was of no use pursuing the subject.

Kitty had reminded him that the kidnapping was still going on. To which he had replied that more than one person must be engaged in the trade, and that James Mitchell was only the commander of the vessel and not the owner.

At this Kitty had tossed her head and made a flippant remark to the effect that although men were created with two eyes they could only see with one; the other being, she supposed, for ornament alone. Then she closed her lips. If the President was disposed to believe that the papers were genuine, it was not for her to combat his belief.

She was debating within herself whether she should show him the manuscript in Piet’s writing and ask him to compare the two. She knew his hasty temper only too well. A serious mistake had just been made in Creede’s case. She did not wish to be the means of hasty judgment elsewhere. She decided that she had better let it alone. It was difficult to believe that Piet was implicated in the disgraceful traffic. She disliked the Dutchman personally for various reasons, one being the suspicion he had shown over the diamonds. She distrusted him for his puritanical attitude. The constant quotation of scripture was not convincing. He was not the first of the kind she had met.

Her thoughts were suddenly dispersed by the sight of some one coming out of the St. Thoma Gate. It was a woman richly dressed with a black mantilla, such as the Portuguese wore, drawn over her head. Seeing Kitty the woman advanced, and as she approached she threw back the black lace shawl. To her surprise Mrs. Nicks recognized her old friend Mrs. Pavia, the wife of the Jew. Kitty raised her hands; then caught her in her arms and kissed her.

“You have called to see me?” cried Kitty as she released her. “But how was it that you came here of all places to look for me?”

“I was told that you were on the beach. I left my palanquin at the President’s house.”

“You should have come by the Sea Gate. You took the longest way by walking to the St. Thoma Gate.”

“I thought I should Like the walk and I wanted to see your wonderful Fort. I passed the warehouses. They were just being closed. I also had a look at the house Mr. Vandenberg is building. It is not finished yet.”

“He has done nothing to it since his engagement to Margery was broken off,” remarked Kitty.

“I don’t like the Dutchman; he is ill-mannered. When you last paid me a visit, do you remember how he thrust himself into my private room without an invitation and found the Golcondah men there?” Without waiting for a reply Mrs. Pavia continued: “I was afraid he would make trouble over those men.”

“I think he did”; and Kitty told the story once more of Higgenson’s search for diamonds.

Mrs. Pavia chuckled over it with appreciation. Higgenson was no favourite with her. She had nothing on her conscience with regard to the infringement of the Company’s rights, and was therefore not prejudiced. Yale she liked, but she was not interested in his wife. Her husband had dealings with some of the younger merchants and writers, who wanted money to carry on their speculations legal and illegal; but Yale and Higgenson had both passed that stage and did not require to be financed any longer.

“Why don’t you lend money as we do?” asked Mrs. Pavia as they strolled together towards the Sea Gate.

“Because of my children. Who knows how soon I may have to go to England with them. I have lost one; I don’t wish to lose any more. In such a case, where would my money be? I could not call it in and my husband would not be able to look after my interests. You will never leave the country, and will therefore always be able to collect what is due to you.”

“Perhaps you are right. Diamonds will pay you as well—if you can get them to England.”

“I think I can manage that if I am patient; and I hope the money will be safely invested in England as well.”

They found Mrs. Yale with Davie still turning over the sand. Solomon had joined his mistress and was standing near, in case he should be wanted. Mrs. Yale at once began an apology for being out when Mrs. Pavia arrived.

“I didn’t know that you were coming,” she said.

“I want to see the President on business connected with St. Thoma,” replied Mrs. Pavia.

“He has gone on board the Eagle: she sails to-morrow. He will not be home till after supper.”

“I can’t wait; he must come and see me. I have something important to tell him. I must go back to my palanquin. I don’t like these country roads after dark.”’

“They are safe enough,” observed Kitty as they went towards the Sea Gate, leaving Mrs. Yale and Margery behind with the children.

“The bearers believe that they are full of devils and go in fear and trembling. It is reported that Mr. Vandenberg’s new house shelters a devil.”

“Only when he is in it,” said Kitty quickly.

Mrs. Pavia laughed, but she was grave again immediately after.

“Tell the President that I want to see him at once. Ask him to give me just half an hour.”

“He is a very busy man at this season, when the shipping is in full swing.”

“My business is quite as important as his.”

“With pleasure; I will tell him, but don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t come for a day or two.”

They had passed the sentry at the Sea Gate and were moving towards the top of Middle Street. Mrs. Pavia stopped.

“He must come at once. Tell him from me that I have information to give him of the slave trader.”

“I’m so glad!” said Kitty. “Who is it?”

“Rama Lingum of St. Thoma—and a European.”

Five minutes later the chant of the bearers was heard, as they carried the Jewess swiftly towards the Fort Gate.

Chapter XXVI

Kitty delivered Mrs. Pavia’s message to the President that evening. He became thoughtful and preoccupied. What European could she have alluded to? He went through the list of the Englishmen living in the Fort, and could fit the cap on to none of them. Perhaps Mrs. Pavia had a Portuguese of St. Thoma in her mind.

He looked at Kitty more than once, and went so far as to ask her if she knew to whom Mrs. Pavia pointed the finger of suspicion; but she shook her head and refused to give an opinion.

“You will hear all about it to-morrow. What time are you going to see her?” said Kitty.

“At ten o’clock in the morning. I shall take Bett with me in case we have to act at once.”

“Don’t trip yourself up this time over a wrong scent, Elihu. At the same time I think you may be guided by Mrs. Pavia. She and her husband are nothing but money-lenders. They don’t deal in diamonds or any of the goods claimed by those grasping Directors.”

The following morning Yale left the Fort immediately after breakfast. He travelled in semi-state, in a palanquin hung with scarlet silk tassels and curtains. A bodyguard of peons accompanied him. Behind jogged Bett on a wiry Mahratta pony which had a villainous temper and the endurance of an elephant.

On arrival at the house in the Luz, Captain Bett elected to remain on the veranda until he was required. He did not forget that the Jewess was a lady with whom no man might take liberties. He had not been invited by Mrs. Pavia, though the President had commanded his presence.

Yale was shown into the room where Mrs. Nicks interviewed the Golcondah merchants. He found Mrs. Pavia there. She was lying back on a pile of cushions. Her fondness for pillows might have suggested middle-age, when a luxurious seat is a consideration; but she was still in her youth, a well-preserved woman of thirty.

From her childhood she had enjoyed the full meed of comfort that wealth could bring. Her life had been filled with soft delights; and rarely had a whim or a wish been unfulfilled. She was of a happy good-natured disposition and possessed a large capacity for enjoyment.

Her husband was rich; he denied her nothing. He took a pride in surrounding her with every luxury money could bring. Like all Jews he knew the art of keeping the wife he loved sleek and young and always pleasing to the eye. The jewels, draperies and beautiful surroundings were the setting for the woman he had chosen; and the setting was for his gratification, not for hers. In sweeping all trouble and anxiety out of her path, he hoped to preserve a placid atmosphere around her, that should soothe him when he needed relaxation after work.

Although he did his best to remove the thorns from her way and keep her from disturbing emotions, he was not always successful. The passions of the Oriental were latent within her, and just now they were stirred. An angry light burned in the large brown eyes usually so soft and gentle.

Mrs. Pavia rose from her silken cushions at the entrance of the President and went to meet him with extended hands. She took both of his in hers with a firm clasp; and bending down she pressed his right hand to her full red lips. Diamonds, rubies and emeralds gleamed on her rounded figure. Her small and perfectly formed feet, half covered with tinkling bangles, were thrust into jewelled slippers of red morocco leather. She led her visitor to a chair near her own and resumed her seat.

The cool summer air wafted the embroidered curtains to and fro and shed a scent of roses through the room. Although three months had passed since Kitty’s visit, time seemed to have stood still. The creepers hung mantles of beauty over the trellis of the big verandas; and the oleanders lifted their blossom-laden boughs to the sun. Butterflies hovered in the garden with the honeysuckers, and the magpie robins and bulbuls sang their songs on the scarlet guava flowers.

Two or three handsome girls draped in folds of silk of pale delicate tints—a subtle contrast to the thick gold-embroidered satin of dark blue that enrobed their mistress— entered bearing coffee and sweetmeats.

When the President had partaken of refreshment in courtesy to the attention shown, the girls withdrew and left their mistress with her guest. In the silence that fell the song of the bulbul came in through the large open doors. Instead of the sound of the sea that was never absent from the Fort, there was a soft rustle of wind through the fronds of the palms outside.

Yale was conscious of a sense of peace; of absence of business and worry; of a dreamy voluptuous sense of ease that was wonderfully soothing to the busy active merchant. He forgot for the moment the object of his visit and allowed himself to be immersed in the atmosphere of restfulness.

Mrs. Pavia did not break the silence at once. She too felt the soothing influence of her surroundings. As she leaned back on her pillows she raised her arms. The folds of the glossy satin fell away from them and left their ivory fairness exposed.

The President recalled the reason for his visit with an effort.

“You came to see me yesterday, madam. I was sorry to be out,” he said.

The angry spark returned to her eye as she answered:

“Sir, the man whom you have been so long trying to discover is living among you at your very gates—the slave-trader.”

Yale was alert in a second. The bulbul’s song was forgotten and the scent of the roses no longer held him entranced. Leaning forward in his chair he asked:

“Who is he? Give me his name.”

She did not seem to hear his question, but continued the tale in her own way.

“We have all suffered, I most of all. I have many young people under my protection. My compound is large and I have plenty of room. A few years ago during the great famine mothers brought their little ones to me, praying me to keep them from starvation. I took them—as many as I had room for—because I love children. I fed and clothed them; and I had them taught their various duties. Those girls who waited on me just now were some of them. If they entered into service in other houses I found them good homes. They love me as a mother.”

She drew herself up from her reclining position in her increasing excitement, and bent towards him till his nostrils were filled with the scent of her draperies. He would have responded with words of sympathy but she checked him with a gesture. She had not finished her tale.

“Last week I lost six of them. Six! six of the best! They were like lotus flowers at their first opening. I had chosen husbands for them, men who have been with me since they were boys. The girls are gone—stolen; and I and my household are plunged in terrible grief.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke; she recovered herself and continued her story.

“I had my suspicions; I watch and sent out my spies. I had the assistance of your own servant, who lost his wife in the same manner. They all brought me the same tale. A fair European of strong build and young was shipping slaves as passengers from the St. Thoma river.”

“Did he receive assistance?” asked Yale.

“His chief assistant is a big negro. His agent who superintends the dispatch of the unfortunate creatures is one of the St. Thoma merchants. Only yesterday did I learn their names, and I came to you at once, sir, so that you may take action and arrest the men.”

“Their names,” demanded Yale.

“The native merchant of St. Thoma is Rama Lingum. He ships them on to coasting vessels that never show themselves in the roads. The negro is Domingo, head servant to the Dutchman. He does the kidnapping, enticing the unsuspecting servants by some false story to a lonely place—I think I know where it is—and there they are gagged and bound.”

She paused, her eyes upon the President. Perhaps she was wondering how he would take the identification of the European.

“Yes? and who is the prime mover of all this villainous machinery?”

“Piet Vandenberg, the Dutchman.”

Yale threw up his hands and shook his head.

“Impossible! I cannot believe it!”

“It is true! Is he not fair and young and of a big figure? He and he alone, with the assistance of Rama Lingum and the negro Domingo, shipped those men last October whose bodies were washed ashore. There was a country ship that foundered south of the Raven. It was Vandenberg’s ship and its name was the Rajah.”

The President was too much astonished for words. She looked into his face and saw that incredulity still lingered. She continued with increasing excitement and anger.

“I assure you that it is all true! The sail about the dead bodies was not from the Raven but the Rajah. The Rajah was not known in your roads. She never entered them. She lay to the south of St. Thoma and attracted no attention. Not a soul suspected the evil work which was going on.”

“What was the name of the other country ship that went down that day? There were four all together, I believe,” said Yale.

“The fourth went down close to the Borneo. It was the Hugli belonging to Dom Pedro of St. Thoma. It was half full of rice.”

“Are you sure it was not the Rampore?”

“Quite; there was no such ship,” she replied positively.

“Has Vandenberg made use of Rama Lingum to help him to conceal his slaves?”

“No; all that Rama Lingum does is to ship the poor things. If they were brought to his house, they would be rescued and his house burned; the people are mad about it. He finds the boats and the gangs of outcastes who carry the baskets in which the slaves are hidden. If any one asks what is being transported the answer is coco-nuts. As the carriers are of the lowest class and reckoned unclean, no one but a European would think of molesting them.”

“I don’t quite understand even now how the actual kidnapping is done. The servants could not be carried off without some opposition on their part,” said Yale, who was more than a little perplexed at the sudden lifting of the curtain on the mysterious business.

“They are decoyed away to a lonely spot. There is a solitary hut near the river. I saw it myself yesterday. It is a little larger than the fishermen usually build and it has a bigger door. It would only be the work of a few minutes to gag and bind the poor things and then to thrust them into these large round baskets that are used for coco-nuts and other country produce. Once aboard they are taken across to Java and Sumatra, where they fetch large sums. Girls like mine are worth a high price either as servants or for the harem. Oh, my poor unhappy children!” she cried again, overcome by her grief and anger. “Little did I suspect that when he came here, borrowing money from my husband to build himself another slave vessel, that even then he was casting his covetous eyes upon my maids as they stood about me! He must have seen them as he entered this room uninvited and unwelcome. When the ship was ready he decoyed them away with the help of the negro, and by this time they are half-way across the Bay without hope of recovery!”

The tears streamed from Mrs. Pavia’s eyes as she told her tale.

“Captain Bett, the Commandant of the garrison, is outside. May I call him in? He must know all the details you have just given me and he must act at once,” said Yale, whose disbelief had vanished before her evidence.

“Certainly; tell him to come quickly,” she answered.

Bett entered the room and glanced from the Governor to Mrs. Pavia. She signed to Yale to repeat the story. As he did so, his Celtic temper rose hot against the Dutchman.

“Vandenberg and his servant Domingo must be arrested at once,” he concluded. “The negro put us on the wrong scent about the toys and by the story of their being found on the river bank opposite to Jearsey’s house. Vandenberg tried the same trick when he gave me those ship’s papers.”

“They were forged for the purpose. And it was the Dutchman who sent me to examine those footmarks outside the sally-port. All a put-up job meant to throw dust in our eyes, damn them both,” said Bett, whose anger was roused by the success of the trick played upon him.

“Arrest them this very day,” said Yale.

“And hang them,” added Mrs. Pavia, her eyes alight with an anger as deep as the President’s.

“If we have evidence enough,” said the cautious old soldier. He turned to Mrs. Pavia. “Will you tell us, madam, what evidence you have for us?”

She repeated the story of her work through spies.

“I have had them watching in all directions. One of the most useful has been the man called Solomon, in your service, I believe, sir,” she said, addressing Yale.

Bett listened with close attention.

“It seems that all the witnesses are natives. We have to deal with a European. We ought to have something more to go upon if we mean to arrest and prosecute. We can’t prove that he is guilty of either piracy or of interloping. Then there is the chance that the slaves were forced to register themselves as passengers going of their own free will.”

“To do that they have to appear in person to register,” said Yale quickly.

“—if they leave the Fort or the Blacktown,” added Bett. “We have no jurisdiction in St. Thoma. Even if we can prove that men and women are shipped against their will from St. Thoma, we cannot proceed against them nor arrest them.”

“Do you doubt Vandenberg’s complicity?” asked Yale hotly.

“I think he is guilty; but we cannot prosecute him for shipping slaves against their will. All we can do is to prove him guilty of stealing them. From what Mistress Pavia has told us, it is the African who does the stealing and Rama Lingum the receiving. I must have time to show that Vandenberg is the instigator. And I must have something better than the word of a native as evidence. We have made one mistake; it won’t do to make another.”

The allusion to Mitchell’s case recalled Yale to prudence. He controlled his temper with an effort.

“He will run away to Masulipatam!” cried Mrs. Pavia, clasping her hands in protest against delay.

Yale turned to Bett.

“You must do as you think best. I don’t want to act this time without sufficient grounds. On the other hand, if he is guilty I should be sorry if he escaped.”

“I will see to that, sir. He is living in the Fort at the present moment with Jearsey. He has been there since Miss Armadale has been occupied all day at your house with the daughters of Mistress Nicks. I shall have him watched, and I may be able to discover something that will implicate him with the actual kidnapping. He is very sly and it will not be easy.”

“Do you think that Jearsey is mixed up with it?”

“Jearsey is quite innocent and suspects nothing,” replied Bett confidently.

“Don’t forget the sally-port in his garden wall,” said the President.

“It has never been used for such a purpose,” answered Bett.

“Jearsey has had nothing to do with it,” said Mrs. Pavia. “Vandenberg made use of his house in the Blacktown until the suspicions of the natives were roused and he feared a raid. Since then the Muckwa’s hut has served him and the new house that he is building in the Fort.”

“How could he take slaves in and out of the Fort with the sentry at the St. Thoma Gate?” asked Yale.

“They have been carried in as building material, trussed up in baskets and out again as refuse to be shot by the river. As for rousing any suspicion on the part of the sentry, is it likely that the soldier on guard would believe that a respectable resident with a character for piety would be guilty of such a crime?” said Mrs. Pavia.

Captain Bett rose from his seat.

“I had better be going, sir, if madam will allow me to take my leave,” he said. “I will have a guard on the sally-port in case the Dutchman tries to escape by the river, and if he goes out by any of the gates he shall be followed and watched.”

“If he should show any sign of attempting to escape to St. Thoma, arrest him,” said Yale.

“Yes, sir,” replied Bett as he hurried off, anxious to put his detective machinery into motion without delay.

It was work that he liked, and he prided himself on his astuteness in anything of the kind. On one occasion when he was young and active, he was sent as far as Tuticorin to arrest an interloper, supposed to be sheltering at that port; a mission in which he was unsuccessful, however, for the excellent reason that the man was not there when he arrived.

But Bett was none the less proud of his commission for all that; and he lost none of hrs confidence in himself. If Vandenberg were up to any of his tricks in the Fort or in the Blacktown, he felt sure that he would run him to earth and expose them.

After Bett left, Yale rose from his chair to make his farewells.

“Sit down again, please, and talk to me. I am so unhappy!” pleaded Mrs. Pavia, her eyes resting appealingly on his.

He was but human and he yielded to her persuasions. Again the girls entered softly, bearing fruit and wine. One of them brought in a vina; and seating herself at his feet she played and sang the immemorial songs of the East that hold within their notes the sighing of the wind, the song of the bulbul, the humming of the bees, the whirring of the cicalas, the long deep tones of the sea.

The Jewess leaning back on her cushions spoke no word, but the brown eyes said plainly to the emotional Welshman, “Take your ease; enjoy; live in the present; forget in these sweet sounds trouble, business, anxiety and your exile.”

Yale was too late for the heavy meal served daily at noon at the Fort House. He had been so well entertained in the Luz that he had no desire to see or taste roast joints of beef and pork and steaming suet puddings. He hoped that Higgenson had been able to take his place at the head of the table and carve.

On arrival at his own house he found Mrs. Nicks on the doorstep. He smiled as he stepped out of the palanquin.

“Curiosity, eh, Kitty? I know you are dying to hear what Mistress Pavia had to say. She charged me with a message for you. She wants you to spend a week with her before you return to Cuddalore. I answered for you, telling her that you could not accept her invitation as all your time was promised to us. You must go and spend the day with her instead.”

“She is kind indeed; but, Elihu, I was not thinking of Mrs. Pavia. I am concerned about Davie,” replied Kitty, more soberly than usual.

The smile fled from the President’s lips and he asked quickly:

“What is the matter with the child? Is he ill?”

“Don’t be alarmed. He has a touch of the ague and your wife would like Dr. Burley to see him. I came down for the purpose of sending a messenger to the doctor; but now you are here, perhaps you will do it for me.”

The surgeon arrived a little later, bringing his medicine chest with him. He thought nothing of the childish ailment, and attributed the fever to a double tooth that Davie was cutting.

He administered a soothing draught and set the parents’ minds at rest. Kitty alone was not quite satisfied. Her own bitter experience had made her distrustful and over-anxious where children were concerned.

Chapter XXVII

The following day the child seemed no better. Mrs. Yale remained with him all the morning, and commissioned Mrs. Nicks to do her marketing for her. Kitty thoroughly enjoyed a visit to the bazaar at any time. She started off with three servants each carrying a basket and spent a happy two hours bargaining with the stall-keepers, and gossiping with any acquaintances she happened to meet.

There was much to hear from Kitty as well as for her to learn; and many were the inquiries after Davie and his parents.

When her shopping was ended she sent the servants back with their loads. Instead of returning by the Middle Gate like the rest of the residents, Kitty took the path that ran outside the walls to the beach.

At that time there were no roads along the shore either north or south. In place of them were well-beaten tracks broad enough to allow of a palanquin or a pack bullock to pass. As she turned into the track leading from the Sea Gate to the Blacktown she came upon Piet, who was walking rapidly away from the Fort. She greeted him. He stopped and glanced up at her with a startled expression. Kitty noted it.

“Good morning, Mr. Vandenberg,” she said cheerily. “You need not be afraid of me. I am not going to bite!”

“I am not afraid of you or of anyone else,” he replied with unusual brusqueness, as he glanced behind him. The sentry at the Sea Gate had come out from beneath the archway and was standing on the pathway, halberd at rest. He was looking at the Blacktown with a fixed gaze, as though he had never seen the place before and washed to study it in every detail.

Piet’s forehead puckered into a frown and he did not follow Kitty’s remark that none but the brave should come to India. If a man found his courage ebbing away through the effect of the climate or through bad luck in his ventures, he should go back at once to Europe. He caught the word Europe.

“It is a long time since I have seen my native land. I must take a holiday soon and go home for a while,” he replied.

“If you decide to do so, I should be glad to give you a passage as far as Trincomalee on one of my ships for a small sum. I have a vessel that is carrying a gang of labourers from the coast to Ceylon for employment on the cinnamon gardens.”

“Indeed!” he said, interested at last. “It might be very convenient to accept your kind offer.”

“Let me know soon. My charge would be only five pagodas for the trip. You make your own arrangements with the captain for meals. Servants’ passages are a pagoda each—as many slaves as you please.”

“I should have only one with me,” he replied, his suspicions suddenly roused by the allusion to slaves.

“I could take ten if you liked.”

“Is it the John and Katherine lying out there?”

“No; she will not be sailing south for another week.” His eye swept the sea.

“I don’t see any other vessel in the roads that is not flying the Company’s flag,” he remarked, bringing a suspicious eye back to her face.

“The ship I mean is lying off St. Thoma.” She paused and then added with a mischievous smile: “She is the Rampore, commanded by James Mitchell.”

He started and his small pale eyes seemed to glint with an electric spark as they were fixed on hers.

“Thank you, madam,” he jerked out, wishing that his words were daggers to slay her on the spot. Without another syllable he resumed his walk to the Blacktown, his heart beating quickly between fear and anger.

As he left her a native sitting between the north-east bastion and the Middle Gate rose to his feet; he twisted his loin cloth about his waist and moved with a long swift stride towards the Blacktown also. Kitty passing southward did not see him. She was chuckling inwardly as she thought of the Dutchman’s confusion.

“Methinks I gave him a shock that time,” she said to herself.

She turned into the Sea Gate and halted near the paved way where the native merchants still lingered, although the chief business of the morning was over. It happened that Higgenson and Wavell were leaving the mart at that moment. They could not avoid Mrs. Nicks without turning round directly and retracing their steps. Her eyes sparkled as she approached them quickly and stood directly in their path.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” she cried in a tone that should have persuaded them that they of all people were the two she most wished to see.

Higgenson looked uncomfortable, as though he would have escaped if he could; but Mrs. Nicks was not one to be easily shaken off if she meant to stay and hold her victims.

The men returned her greeting, Wavell with a smile, his companion with a gravity born of an uneasy conscience.

“I am so pleased to meet you,” continued Kitty, plunging into her subject at once. “I want to tell you that I am sailing in about a week for Cuddalore. I have given orders to the master of my ship, the John and Katherine, to show you every civility when you pay your visit. He will have the keys and will open every locker that we have on board.”

“Visit!” repeated Higgenson with a puzzled glance at her under her eyebrows that was not free of suspicion. “I don’t think I quite understand your meaning, madam.”

“Your visit when you search the ship, sir. As for myself, I shall be ready to receive you in my room at the President’s house at whatever hour you like to name. I will let you know without fail the time of my sailing, so that——”

“Pray, Mistress Nicks, do not speak of such a thing!” said Wavell, vainly trying to stem the torrent with propitiation. Higgenson was speechless. That he heard and understood was evident from the deep brick-red tint that suffused his face.

“Of course I shall not speak of it!” said Kitty loftily. “I have my character to consider. Mr. Higgenson’s visit to my room shall be a dead secret between us. Not even my husband shall know of it——”

Anything more that she might have said was cut short by the rapid retirement of Higgenson, who in his desperation made a bee line for the Fort House, which was forbidden ground for all women but the sweepers.

“Madam, you are the most wonderful woman in India. You think of everything!” said Wavell as he turned to follow Higgenson with a broad grin on his good-natured face. “And the most audacious!” he added under his breath.

Kitty’s face dimpled all over with smiles as she went on her way down Middle Street. At the door of the house she met Yale, who had just come from the council chamber.

“You look amused, Kitty,” he observed with a touch of curiosity.

“I have just seen Mr. Wavell and Mr. Higgenson. I have informed them both that I shall be quite ready for their visit before my departure and will observe a discreet silence about it with regard to my husband.”

“Poor old Higgenson! You mustn’t be too hard upon him. I am sure he will repent to the end of his days ever having molested you,” said Yale as he joined her in the laugh.

“I also met the Dutchman,” she said, becoming grave again. “He is still at large, I see.”

“Bett says he can’t arrest him on the evidence we have. He is having Vandenberg watched.”

“Piet is a crafty one with that old Bible under his arm!” said Kitty. “He pricked up his ears when I offered him a passage on one of my ships to Trincomalee. I’ll warrant he’d be glad enough to find himself there or in any other Dutch factory, and to be clear of the Fort. But once let him get beyond the White or the Blacktown and Captain Bett would never run him to earth again!”

“You wouldn’t give the scoundrel a passage, Kitty, would you?” Yale asked at a loss as usual to know if she were joking or not.

“I told him he could have one for five pagodas on the Rampore with James Mitchell master. Piet did not close with the offer. On the contrary, he left me hastily,” she replied with another laugh.

“I am afraid he will make a bolt of it after that; however, he will find it very difficult to escape Bett, if only we can get sufficient evidence to implicate him with his man Domingo.”

That evening Kitty sat watching Davie as he tossed on his bed. Mrs. Yale, who intended sitting up with him all night, was resting in her room.

“Godmother!” said the feverish little voice.

“Yes, darling!”

“Has the bad man sent Mary back yet?”

“No, my child, not yet.”

“I want Mary to carry me in her arms.”

“I’ll carry you, sonnie.”

She lifted the wasted form from his cot, and paced the room with him in her arms. He had been restless for some hours and unable to sleep. The gentle movement soothed him, but his brain was fevered, as well as his body. He babbled about his fort and his school which Solomon was building in the sand near his castle. Now and then he mentioned Mary.

Presently the heavy eyes closed; the motion of being carried rocked him into a troubled slumber.

Mrs. Nicks put him back on his pillows and an ayah fanned him gently. As Kitty lifted herself from stooping over the bed and stretched her aching arms, she saw Yale standing in the doorway.

“How is the child?” he whispered.

She drew him out into the passage, and away from the open door of the sick-chamber.

“He has just dropped off to sleep. He has been restless and inclined to wander in his mind. I should be so thankful if he could get a couple of hours’ good sleep.”

“Do you think he is any better?” he asked.

“I am afraid not; but Dr. Burley says that he is no worse.”

“Where’s Katherine?”

“She has gone to lie down. She means to sit up with him to-night; so I persuaded her to get a little rest while she could.”

“Has she seemed at all troubled to-day about the boy?” he asked, after a slight pause.

“Not more than usual. Of course she is anxious; we all are; but she sees no danger and puts the ailment down to teeth.”

He laid his hand upon her shoulder and scanned her face as he spoke.

“Kitty, do you see any danger?” he asked gravely.

She turned away from his anxious gaze, unable to meet the pain that had sprung into his eyes. In doing so she slipped from his grasp.

“It is hardly fair to ask me that question. I am apt to be over-anxious after my sad experience.”

The fingers of his hands closed upon his palms in his effort at self-control. She saw it and knew what it betokened.

“Come into the sitting-room, Elihu. We shall disturb the child if we talk just outside his door.”

She walked into his own room and he followed. He dropped into the chair by the window where she had found him on the Sunday of the storm. He leaned forward, his head upon his hands in an attitude of dejection.

“This is my only son,” he said presently, as though in excuse for the distress that he could not hide. “I can’t spare him. My wife has her own sturdy boys. Davie is not her only son; but with me he is the only one.”

Despair as well as sadness was in his tone. Kitty seated herself near him.

“Courage, Elihu, courage! The child is ill, possibly seriously ill; but he is not dying.”

Brave though her words were, he could find no hope nor comfort in them. He looked at her with eyes that were full of apprehension.

“You know what it is to lose your only boy, Kitty; and you alone can guess how I feel.” His head sank upon his hands again, and he cried aloud in his anguish, as many stricken fathers have cried before and since: “Oh God, spare the child!”

Tears sprang into Mrs. Nicks’S eyes, but she resolutely kept them back. What Yale said about his wife was true. He was alone in a measure with his grief. His wife would sorrow for the child if she lost him; but she would not be grieving for the loss of an only son.

“Has Dr. Burley been since the morning?” he asked presently.

“He came at two o’clock and we expect him again tonight. He is doing all he can and we must hope that God will bless his endeavours.”

“Great heaven! how I prayed for the little life to be spared when I was in church this morning,” he replied in a low voice.

“And God will hear the prayers of His servants, surely. But if it should be His will——”

He interrupted her with a groan; he could not bear to hear the sentence finished.

“Ah! I cannot part with him!”

A faint sound from the sick-room summoned Kitty to the bedside, and the President was left alone with his grief. Fortunately a message was brought from Captain Bett asking if he might see him on business. Work was better for him than brooding over his trouble. He rose from his chair and went across the landing to descend the stairs to the office below, where Bett was waiting. He had to pass the door of the sick-room, which was left open for the sake of air. Hearing the child’s voice, he stopped and looked in. Davie recognized him at once.

“Dadda, come here! I want to speak to you,” he cried in his babyish speech.

“What is it, my son?” asked Yale as he approached the bed.

“You must take care of the Fort. I can’t attend to it; I am too tired. I must go to sleep on Mary’s lap. Will you take care of it?”

The large eyes, bright with fever, were fixed on Yale’s face with a strange anxiety.

“Yes, sonnie. I will put a guard over it.”

“And you must finish the school. Solomon will show you how.”

“You can finish it when you get well, my boy.”

“If I could go to Mary, I should soon get well.”

The child closed his eyes again. Yale bent over him and pressed his lips to the hot brow. He was stealing quietly away when Davie opened his eyes again.

“Dadda! You must tell Solomon to build my school somewhere else. The Moghul will burn it if he finds it.”

“Very well, sonnie, I will see to it.”

“In another country, far away, where there are no Moghuls and bad men to take away little boys’ schools and forts and Mary.”

Mrs. Nicks leaned over the child with a cooling drink of fresh lime juice.

“You must go, Elihu. He mustn’t talk so much,” she whispered. “Promise to do all he asks and then slip away.”

At the foot of the stairs Solomon waited for news of the young master.

“He is the same, neither better nor worse,” replied the President gravely.

“Am I needed in the sick-room, most honoured one?”

“There is nothing that you can do.”

“Can I have leave, sir?” Solomon meant leave for the day.

Yale looked at his servant. The man was a wreck of his former self. All his gaiety, so characteristic of the people of the south of India, was gone. The grief that had overshadowed him since Mary’s disappearance had left him gloomy and morose. The self-control that had been exercised on behalf of his young master had had a bad effect. Yale recognized the fact. It would have been better to have sent the man away for a short time; given him leave of absence with a small sum of money to spend. He would have returned all the better for it and less likely to break down suddenly in the perpetration of some wild lawless act. It was not too late to do so now.

“Yes; you can have leave for fourteen days, and if you will come to the office now I will give you money enough to keep you during that time. I think you had better make a pilgrimage to Goa. Or if you don’t wish to go as far, perhaps St. Thomas’ Mount will do; and carry an offering with you.”

Solomon salaamed and received the money gratefully; but the fortnight’s leave and the gift did not lift the melancholy that had settled upon him. Yale turned to Bett as the bearer disappeared.

“That man’s life is wrecked through this iniquitous slave trading,” he remarked. “A good servant spoilt.”

“Who is he?”

“The husband of my child’s maid who was kidnapped.”

“He is one of the men who has given me information that will be useful against the African. I shall want him later.”

“You haven’t made any arrests yet.”

Bett’s face took on a worried expression.

“I could nab the negro at any time; but I am leaving him alone just at present, hoping to implicate the Dutchman. Vandenberg is a sly dog; his uncle and aunt have no suspicion of his backslidings.”

“Can’t you prove that he was the owner of the Rajah?”

“Everything was done in the name of Rama Lingum. I can’t touch Rama because he belongs to St. Thoma. Just now the Moghul’s viceroy is master of the town. Though the viceroy is disposed to be friendly he would not help me to arrest a native merchant who is able to pay him a subsidy.”

“Perhaps Vandenberg will get away to St. Thoma, where we have no jurisdiction,” said Yale.

“Not likely! The Moghul’s people would squeeze him dry and then send him back to us.”

The hours sped on and Davie grew weaker. On the Tuesday morning he rallied, and hopes were raised that the crisis was past. But the improvement did not last. During the day he flagged; by the next morning it was evident that he was sinking.

Mrs. Yale, tender and quiet but often in tears, rarely left the boy. Her attention was occupied with the duties of sick-nurse. She had had her experience of sickness. It had come to her in years gone by, when she watched and tended the husband of her youth on his deathbed. She had seen him fade and droop and finally pass away. There was nothing new in the circumstances of the hour, and she bore her trouble with the submission and resignation of one who had already suffered.

With Yale it was different. Grief had never touched him before. He writhed under it, and his quick sensitive spirit rose in rebellion against the will of his Maker.

Kitty looked on with an aching heart. She knew only too well how impossible it was to help him. Now and then she sought to comfort by a word or by a simple touch of the hand; but she could not lift the load from his shoulders.

The surgeon of the Fort was with them all Wednesday doing what he could to conquer the disease, but his remedies were unavailing.

The sun went down to its setting in the west, gilding the inland landscape and turning the sea from a sapphire blue to a glowing purple. Where the waves curled over on the sand the snowy surf caught the rays of the sun and blushed a rosy hue, such as is seen on the snow-clad peaks of the Alps.

Dr. Burley had his hand on the wrist of the patient. He felt the fluttering pulse stop and then race on again while the laboured breathing increased. He looked closely at Davie, over whose face the pallors of death were spreading.

“The end is near,” he said, quietly looking up, not unmoved himself.

Mrs. Yale and Kitty were both prepared for the words; but with the father it was different. Although Yale had known all day that there was no hope, he could not face the true meaning of it. While there was life, there was hope for him.

Dr. Burley’s announcement was a shock; it startled him and he threw himself on his knees by the child, crying:

“Davie! my little son, Davie!”

The child, whose spirit was on the brink of departing, heard his father’s call. With that strange momentary flickering up of the soul before it takes its flight, he recovered semi-consciousness.

“Dadda! fort! school!” he breathed.

The words died away till the last was barely audible to the ears strained to catch it. There was a long breath or two, a convulsive shudder and the silence of death fell upon the child.

Yale still knelt by the bed, his strong fingers clenched in his agony and his head bowed down upon the white sheet. He remained as motionless as the inanimate body of the child. His wife leaned over him and laid her cheek upon his hair.

“Elihu, God’s will be done! The child is gone to a happier home.”

The sentences were said slowly and softly between sobs that made speech difficult. He did not stir; he seemed turned to stone. Mrs. Nicks, understanding the man better, whispered:

“Leave him; he cannot bear to be spoken to yet.”

They stole away and closed the door on father and son.

“Try to sleep if you can,” said Kitty. “You have been up all day and all night.”

“I can’t sleep while Elihu is breaking his heart in there. He has never had death so close to him before. You and I know what it is; but this is his first experience of it in his own home. Will you go to him, Kitty, and bring him away?”

“I can’t! Katherine, I can’t see him suffer!”

Mrs. Yale did not understand. Grief is a selfish emotion demanding all kinds of strange sacrifices. She was putting Kitty’s friendship to a greater strain than she was aware of when she made the request.

“You are one of his oldest friends,” continued Mrs. Yale. “He will listen to you. You have lost your only son, and you of all people must know what he feels. You can best comfort him.”

Kitty shuddered and felt that Mrs. Yale was cruel in the selfishness of her sorrow.

“It would be more than I could bear.”

There was an interval of silence. The head ayah appeared in the doorway. It meant that there were orders to give. She looked at the mistress.

“Elihu must come away,” said Mrs. Yale decisively. “Some one must go to him. He will break his heart if he stays there alone with his grief. Kitty, do take pity on him and go!”

“I will do as you wish—for his sake,” replied Kitty.

She went to the door of the child’s room. Every particle of colour had forsaken her face; her hand closed convulsively on the white muslin folds that covered her heart.

Not a sound came from the room. She stood for a few seconds as though summoning all her strength for the ordeal before her. Opening the door she passed into the chamber of death to minister to the living.

In India the burial takes place within twenty-four hours of death. Therefore the following morning was fixed for little Davie to be carried to his last resting-place in the old cemetery by the sea.

In accordance with the English custom the coffin was taken first to the church. From there, preceded by Mr. Elliot, it was borne along the street past the President’s house.

It was a very different funeral from that which Yale had watched from his window the day after the storm, when a solitary mourner followed a poor sailor to his grave. Now the President was immediately behind the white pall walking bare-headed and alone. His pale face was set with sorrow.

Close behind him came the members of council, followed by the rest of the European inhabitants of the Fort, and a large number of the chief natives of the Blacktown. Every servant of the Governor’s household who could obtain leave was also in the throng. The funeral passed through the Middle Gate. Minute guns boomed from the ramparts.

There were no buildings between the cemetery and the beach; but the monuments were protected from the weather by a thick grove of coco-nut palms and guava bushes. The vault was situated in a quiet corner where the oleanders scented the air, and fallen flowers of the plumiera tree carpeted the ground.

The hum of the busy Blacktown was drowned by the sound of the waves. There they left all that remained of little Davie lying with Joseph Hynmers, the father of his big brothers. There to this day may be seen the monument recording their names.

The palms and guavas, the oleander and pagoda trees have long since been cut down and cleared away. But Davie still sleeps in his grave by the sea. Cyclones have swept over it. Famine and disease have raged round it; and the cannon balls of the French have hissed and roared over it and left it unhurt. The stately law-courts now look down on to the dark grey slab of granite that marks his resting-place; and men still hold the ground sacred.

In the empty silent council chamber Gabriel Roberts, the secretary, was busy with the books. There were no minutes of a meeting to record. Instead of minutes he wrote words that to this day may be read in the records treasured at Fort St. George. They are as follows:

“Thursday, 26th January, 1688. The Council did not meet this Day. The President’s only Son dying last Night was interred this Morning to their great Grief and Sorrow.”

Chapter XXVIII

One person did not appear at Davie’s funeral who might have been expected among the mourners. His absence passed without notice since his services were no longer required by his little master. This was Solomon.

When the bearer looked into the face of the President as he came from Davie’s room, and heard that the child was no better, all hope fled. If confirmation of his gloomy forebodings was needed, it was to be found in the fact that long leave had been granted to him without his having to ask for it. Would he have been given a fortnight if his services were likely to be needed?

The African had cast his shadow on the child and had overlooked him. Being by heredity a fatalist, Solomon believed the boy to be doomed. To attempt to combat fate was worse than useless. Doctor and nurse were of no use. Better accept destiny and pass on to the next phase in life—revenge. The time had arrived for retribution and the great question of how it was to be effected. Solomon in his idleness brooded for hours over the subject.

After weeks of patient watching he had satisfied himself as to the identity of the chief mover in Mary’s abduction. If further confirmation were wanted, he found it in his little master’s words when face to face with the negro. Davie had solemnly asked, “Where is my Mary?” and with the query he had called Domingo a bad man.

Day and night the words rang in his ears, pointing always to slave and master, master and slave, till both seemed merged in one. His fellow-servants noted his changed bearing and deepening gloom. They drew apart from him, believing that the African had bewitched him as well as the child.

On receiving leave of absence Solomon went into the Blacktown and entered a ’rack house. He was a sober steady servant and had hitherto never been seen in such haunts. He penetrated to a little room at the back, where the habitual topers sat or lay on mats and took up his position against the wall.

The stuff he called for was not merely alcohol. It was arrack drugged with hemp and datura, two maddening poisons that affected the brain. It was the stuff that sent men running amok. The feet and legs were not affected as under the influence of simple drink, but the mind and brain were thrown off their balance. Moral sense was obliterated and the human being, under the domination of the concoction, seemed to fall into the power of an evil spirit.

Hour after hour Solomon sat there, imbibing the thick sweetened poison as he brooded. No one troubled to look at him or to inquire who he was. He had money to pay for what he ordered. If he chose to remain all day and all night, it was nothing to the proprietor of the den. Outside the ’rack house was a stall where a woman sold hot and highly spiced curry to the frequenters of the place. Some departed after eating sparingly and without appetite. Others returned to the house and continued their potations.

At the sound of the first minute gun fired for the funeral the bearer started and came out of his brooding. He lifted his head and listened. A second gun brought him to his feet. He stretched himself and gazed round in a furtive suspicious manner. Two or three men were lying in the same room in a semi-conscious condition. The air was heavy with the fumes of spirit and drugs and foul for want of an open window.

He passed into the outer chamber, where there were more men who were in various stages of intoxication, but none of them incapable. They took no notice of him as he slipped by and went into the street. Another minute gun boomed from the Fort.

“His Excellency’s son is to be buried this morning,” said a man, stopping in his walk as he was passing.

This was the first intimation Solomon had received of the child’s death. He stared at the speaker with wild bloodshot eyes. The stranger grunted and resumed his way. He recognized the signs of hemp and knew that the person he had addressed was in no condition to talk coherently on any event.

There was a low veranda attached to the ’rack house with a raised floor. Solomon stepped into it and seated himself, squatting on his heels, his limp hands hanging from the wrists as he rested his arms on his knees. His head was bowed and he took no notice of his surroundings.

The guns ceased. Men and women who had been to look on at the cemetery returned full of news. They soon had an audience round them, and they related all that they has seen and heard without reservation. Much was said about his Honour, the President himself. In their eyes no greater misfortune could have happened than the loss of his only son. A rumour was floating among them that some evil influence had been at work to cause the fatal sickness. Their words reached the quickened brain of the bearer, but he made no comment and gave no sign that he had heard.

Early in the afternoon Solomon rose to his feet once more. The owner of the ’rack house came forward and asked if he should prepare more drink. With a curt negative the other walked away. He stopped at the food stall and directed the woman in charge of it to give him a curry that was hot with chillies and ginger. He seated himself behind a little screen of matting that she had erected near her stall for the benefit of her customers and swallowed the food. She poured water for him to drink and to wash his hands. Shaking out the long piece of calico that draped his legs and tidying himself he moved away, turning his face towards the Fort. The sun, though still high in the west, would soon be low enough to allow the English children of the Fort to come out with their servants and play on the sand.

He turned off the path and wandered along the shore, unconsciously drawing near to the spot where he had spent so many evenings in building and rebuilding Davie’s earthworks. Both fort and school still retained their forms, although a wall had fallen here and there and the moat was half filled in. Two or three bits of driftwood that had once played the part of guns were lying near. The sight of them sent the blood to the bearer’s brain. They were associated not only with his little master but with the wife whose disappearance had wrecked his life.

He stopped and stood like a statue gazing down at the relics of the past. A deep dull rage glowed in his heart. It was ready to burst into flame, but at present it smouldered only. A shadow fell across Davie’s castle. He glanced up quickly and saw the negro standing near him. The man’s face wore an ugly smile as he caught Solomon’s eye.

“So you have not run away after all!” said Domingo aggressively. “Are you not afraid to remain here?”

“Why should I fear?” asked Solomon stupidly, the light dying out of his eye and leaving him dull and heavy.

“Haven’t you reason to fear the anger of my master and myself? Who has put the soldiers on our tracks?” asked the African roughly. “Never for a minute, night or day, do Master Bett and his men cease from watching us. What does it mean? What does he think to do?”

The angry questions pouring from his lips seemed to fall on dull uncomprehending ears. Solomon’s bloodshot eyes dwelt upon Davie’s deserted fort in a kind of dream.

“Your little master is dead and you’re not wanted any more. You will be sold!” jeered the negro.

The eyes were lifted from the sand to the face of Domingo with a heavy stare and dropped immediately. The African thought he read fear in the persistent silence.

“You would like to know where your wife was sent. If you follow me you shall learn.”

There was cunning as well as contempt on his lip as he spoke. Voices came from the direction of the Sea Gate, and the English children issued from the archway to play on the sands. Among them would be the daughters of the President with their ayahs, Solomon’s fellow-servants. He had no wish to meet them in his present condition. He moved away to the south, the negro following. They turned round the bastion on the south-east and walked towards the river. As they drew near the solitary Muckwa hut Domingo said:

“Come inside this hut and I will show you something that belonged to your wife, the ayah called Mary.”

He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and with one of them he opened the door of the hut. The door was left ajar to admit light; but the African placed himself in such a position that his companion could not pass.

Near the wall of the hut were two large round baskets with a shoulder pole of bamboo, upon which the baskets were slung when carried. Close to them were rags and manacles of iron. Fragments of glass bangles like those winch Mary wore lay scattered near the baskets. The sight of them stirred something in the mind of Solomon, and he drew his breath in deep gasps. Again the negro laughed unpleasantly, as he thought he read further signs of fear.

“Your wife was brought here. I gave her a false message, supposed to have been sent by her master to say that she was to go home by the St. Thoma Gate; and to receive from the sentry some new toys for the little master made by one of the soldiers in the barracks. She hastened to do her master’s bidding. When she was close to the hut it was the work of only half a minute to bind her and bring her in here. A few rags sufficed to stop her cries. All the same she fought and bit and scratched till we had secured her.”

“You and who else?” asked Solomon, speaking for the first time.

“My master, of course. It is he who uses the whip when necessary. He has a strong arm, as strong as mine, and he makes the lash draw blood. When he had done with her and she was quiet, we had her carried in one of those baskets”—he pointed to the two lying there—“to St. Thoma at night. The next day we shipped her to Bencoolen with five others.”

“I would follow her,” said Solomon in a dull unemotional voice.

“You would?” exclaimed the negro in astonishment.

“And be sold to her present master if he will buy me.”

The negro laughed as though he were listening to a good joke.

“The woman isn’t worth it; she’s a cat, a scratching, biting devil! She was more trouble to capture than many others we have dealt with.”

Solomon did not reply. He kept his eyes down, and the eyelids hid the fire which burned in them. If Domingo could have seen it, he might not have thought his task so easy.

He had been ordered by his master to bring the bearer to the empty house in the Fort. The Dutchman was anxious to interview the man who had been instrumental in setting the Commandant on his tracks. The negro had anticipated difficulty and was prepared to use craft and force if necessary. He found Solomon apparently in the depths of despair, timid and without a spark of the old spirit left in him. He was easier to kidnap than the ayah, and not at all inclined to fight as on the occasion when he was with his little master on the beach.

“Take me to your master,” said Solomon presently.

Without a word the negro led the way out of the hut. He closed and locked the door; and the two men proceeded quietly towards the St. Thoma Gate. When they were halfway there Domingo stopped and looked at his companion.

“Is it true that you wish to see the master? If so, walk on by yourself; pass through the gate and go slowly past the front entrance of the house. Beyond it you will find a smaller door, the entrance to the servants’ quarters. Wait in the archway. By leaning against the door you will be hidden from the view of the sentry should he be looking in your direction. I will follow and enter as usual by the front door of which I have a key. I will let you in at the little door.”

Solomon wagged his head in assent. He had reasons of his own for not wishing to be seen entering the house. The African could not believe that the man would fall in with his plan so easily. The bearer seemed to have no suspicion that the Dutchman had a heavy score to settle with him; and that after it was settled the negro himself would have something to say, if there was any life left in the victim of their anger.

“You will do as I tell you?” asked the negro as he began to move away.

“I will do anything to join my wife,” replied the bearer.

He shambled along with a gait that was strange and unusual. The negro meanwhile took cover, crouching low on the ground so that he should not be observed by the sentry should he happen to come out on the south side and glance over the rough deserted waste lying between the Fort and the river.

Domingo had no desire to be seen in the company of the bearer. He knew his master. It was possible that the punishment intended for Solomon might have serious consequences. He did not wish to be associated with anything of the kind; nor did he forget that the man was a valued servant belonging to the President. He watched him till he disappeared within the gate. After waiting ten minutes he followed.

The sentry looked at the African and let him go by without question, but he kept his eyes upon him until he had let himself in by the front door and had disappeared. Then the sentry resumed his monotonous pacing to and fro, satisfied that he need not keep further watch upon the house. The negro could not pass out of the Fort except by one of the gates, when he would come under the notice of the guard in charge of that gate.

Domingo waited till the sentry had gone back to the south side in his beat, before opening the door where Solomon waited. The door was quickly closed and barred.

The bearer found himself in a passage leading to the centre of the building. A small room lighted only by a skylight opened close to the foot of the staircase. It was intended for a strong room, but was not yet furnished with safes and chests. The chamber was murky and dim. The furniture consisted of a rough bench placed against the wall and a small table. On the table stood a country lamp containing coco-nut oil and a wick of twisted cotton. The African lighted the lamp. Then turning to Solomon, he said:

“The master will come presently and you can ask him to send you to the country where your wife is gone. He may have something to give you besides a free passage on one of his ships.”

The negro stood eyeing Solomon as a man might eye a rat or snake that he desired to kill. But the fingers that itched to tear the other’s throat were quiet. The order had been given that the President’s servant was to be brought untouched and with a whole skin. Punishment would be meted out, but it was for the master to administer it and not the servant.

Solomon without asking permission squatted on the floor with his back against the wall, and sat as he had done in the veranda of the ’rack house, the picture of limp dejection. After a few minutes’ silence Domingo left the room, turning the key of the lock on the prisoner.

The moment the negro disappeared a marvellous change took place. Solomon rose quickly to his feet. He divested himself of his clothes, laying them in a neat heap on the bench. Then he tightened the small loin cloth that bound his waist, after the manner of a coolie who was preparing himself for his day’s work.

As he did this his whole expression changed. The dull apathy disappeared; the lips were parted in a fierce grin of determination; the eyes lost their dazed look and blazed with a fire of deadly rage. From the folds of his loin cloth he brought out a bag that served him as a pocket; he extracted a small double-edged dagger, the blade of which closed upon its handle like a pocket knife. He opened it and fastened the steel by a spring. The blade was about five inches long and was easily concealed under the wrist. Having made his preparations, Solomon squatted upon the floor again, taking up a position opposite the door.

Perhaps he slept; but if so his sleep was light. The sound of the key turning in the lock caused him to spring to his feet alert, watchful, prepared.

Vandenberg, carrying his Bible under his arm and a whip in his hand, entered. He stood in the doorway looking at the bearer with a smile of triumph, seeing nothing but fear and timid apprehension in the appearance of the man before him; the man was stripped. So much the better. He turned and spoke to Domingo.

“Go back to the Blacktown by the St. Thoma Gate and see that my supper is prepared. Let it be prawns and teal.”

Domingo salaamed and his master closed the door.

The African moved away towards the entrance and stood near the front door. He listened intently, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice. His master would be angry to find him spying upon his actions.

At the end of five minutes he thought he heard the sound of the lash. Screams of terror and pain followed, and then all was quiet except for a groan or two.

With a grin of satisfaction Domingo passed out of the front door, and walked rapidly towards the St. Thoma Gate. The sentry followed him and stood outside in the light of the setting sun, bringing his halberd down with the butt end sharply on the ground.

A native rose from behind a bush. He lifted a fish basket on to his head and followed the African at a distance as though he were carrying fish to the evening market.

⁎  ⁎  ⁎

The following day Captain Bett waited on the President.

“Sorry to trouble you, sir; but Mr. Vandenberg has disappeared.”

“Has he got away after all?”

“We can’t say until we have searched the Fort. He was last seen by the sentry at the St. Thoma Gate. He came in from the direction of the river and went straight into his new house. It was about half an hour before sunset.”

“Was anyone with him?”

“No, sir, he was alone; but his servant, the African, had entered the house half an hour before him. The negro came out and passed through the gate about twenty minutes after his master had gone in. He was followed to the house in the Blacktown, where we found him this morning and arrested him.”

“Was anyone else seen to enter the house in the Fort?”

“No, sir. Your servant, Solomon, came in at the St. Thoma Gate, but he went straight on. He would not be able to enter the new house as it was locked and barred.”

“I gave Solomon leave of absence for a fortnight,” observed Yale.

“And he has taken it. He returned to your house last evening at sunset to fetch some clothes; and he left just before dark by the Middle Gate. From what he said to the servants here it seems that he has gone to some friends at Ennore for his holiday.”

“What has the negro to say for himself? Can he account for his master’s disappearance?”

“He declares that he left Vandenberg at the new house and hurried back to the Blacktown by his master’s orders to prepare supper for him.”

“Has he a key of the house?”

“He assures us that he has none. It may or may not be true. What I have come for is to ask your permission to break open the house. Jearsey is much distressed by the news and he agrees to the door being forced.”

“By all means set about it at once. I am afraid the Dutchman has slipped through our fingers and we shall never see him here again,” said Yale.

Bett hurried away with his authority and went to work at once. The door was forced and the house searched. They discovered the body of Piet. His hand grasped a whip, and he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The body was covered with wounds inflicted by a narrow double-edged blade not more than five inches long. Twice it had been driven into the heart.

The dagger was not found, nor was there any clue to the perpetrator of the crime. It could be none other than the African, however. There was no blood on his clothes and they could find no weapon in his possession with which he could have stabbed his master; but who else could have done it?

In the search for Vandenberg other discoveries were made. A mask such as was used for the devil-dances of the south was picked up in the room, where the board had slipped away from its position. This was sufficient to account for the apparition at the window. Under cover of the mask Vandenberg had watched Margery and Creede from the window. He had seen Solomon give the palm leaf letters to Margery; and he had noted how the bearer had sat in the guard-room. He guessed his object. Vandenberg had also purposely frightened away the workpeople. The house was more valuable to him in its empty half-finished condition than finished. He had all along reckoned on bending Margery to his will, and taking her as a bride to his other house in the Blacktown.

A further discovery solved the mystery of the kidnapping. Baskets and manacles and a broken whip were found with the mask. A thrill of horror went through the community living within the Fort as people realized what these articles meant.

If further evidence was needed the negro was ready to turn King’s evidence in the hope of mitigating his sentence. He stoutly denied the murder all through, and stuck to his tale of being sent home by his master to prepare his supper. In addition he declared that the deed was done by none other than the President’s servant, Solomon, in revenge for Vandenberg’s treatment of his wife. But the story gained no credence with anyone in the Fort.

A search was made for Solomon; but he was known to have departed quite openly and at his leisure for Ennore. He was cleared of all suspicion and no one troubled to give him a second thought. Suspicion still clung to the African, but there was not sufficient evidence to convict him of having murdered his master. It was to Domingo’s advantage to keep his master alive and to serve him. The crime remained a mystery for all time and was never solved.

Chapter XXIX

The John and Katherine still lay at anchor in the roads, bowing and curtsying on the swell as she strained gently at anchor. The wooden planking creaked and the fresh cool breeze sang softly in her rigging. Everything was ship-shape and ready for her departure home. All she awaited now was the coming on board of her owner, Mrs. Nicks.

On the shore, not many yards from David’s fort stood a group of people. A surf boat drawn just out of reach of the curling waves was in readiness with its rowers handling their oars. They were only waiting for the farewells to be spoken. The little girls clung tearfully to each other, and Margery was obliged at last to separate them.

“Come along, children,” she cried in a cheerful voice. “We are going back to your father. He will be so pleased to have his little maids with him again. He has been so lonely this last month.” She turned to the President’s daughters. “Good-bye, Cathie; good-bye, Annie; goodbye, dear Mrs. Yale!”

Kisses were exchanged with promises of a repetition of the visit before long. The boatmen were permitted to lift the children into the boat, and they forgot their tears in the delight of being carried through the surf that rolled mildly about the Muckwas’ ankles. Once in the boat their eyes were riveted on the waves which seemed as though they must reach them; but invariably they curled over and fell just short of the bow of the boat.

Mrs. Nicks was between the President and his wife. His pale face bore fresh lines upon it, which time would never efface. Kitty gave a hand to each and turned from one to the other.

“I cannot tell you all that is in my mind, but you know how my heart has bled for you both in your great sorrow.”

Mrs. Yale’s fingers closed over hers in a trembling clasp. She was unable to speak. It was her husband who responded.

“I know! I know! God bless you for your goodness to us in our darkest hour,” he said.

She dared not trust herself to reply; but went round the circle of friends taking leave of them with lips that smiled and eyes that shone with tears. She shook hands heartily with Tom Yale.

“Come and see me when you like. A warm welcome awaits you always,” she said.

“I shall take you at your word, Mrs. Nicks,” he answered, laughing. “I shall fly to you for refuge when I have fallen out with the council. Higgenson is thirsting for my blood already, I know!”

As she took leave of Mrs. Bridger Kitty said:

“Give my love to Mrs. Jearsey. She would not let me see her this morning; nor could Margery get admittance. They say that the shock of her nephew’s death has nearly killed her.”

“Indeed it has and Jearsey too; but with him it is the shame of it all.”

“It is a sad story,” said Bridger with a sigh of pity for his rough old friend. “Even now Jearsey cannot bring himself to believe that it was his wife’s nephew who stole our servants. He thinks that there must be a mistake, and that the African was the culprit; he was making use of his master’s house. But that is catching at a straw. Vandenberg had a whip in his hand. The theory is now that he had kidnapped some unknown servant and intended to whip him into submission, but the man proved too strong for him.”

“I believe that he intended to thrash his own servant and that it was the African who murdered him. Those negroes are much more revengeful and ill-tempered than the natives of the Coromandel coast,” said Mrs. Bridger.

“There can be no doubt about it,” said her husband. “The negro was seen to go into the house and to return soon after the master joined him there. The sentry swears to it.”

“He intended to rob his master’s house and run away with all he could lay his hands upon,” said the President. “Now, Kitty, it is your turn to be carried through the water. They are all aboard but you.”

She was lifted by the Muckwas and placed on the red cushions of the boat by the side of her daughters. The boatmen pulled at their oars as the masulah boat was pushed through the waves and rowed towards the John and Katherine to the chant which each succeeding generation sings without change.

The John and Katherine spread her sails in the golden light of the setting sun and sailed away from Madras; leaving the flat sandy shore with its fringe of palms, its sluggish river creeping in shining reaches to the sea which except after a storm it never entered; its little colony of brave exiles garnering riches for their masters at home and fortunes for themselves if the climate spared them.

The sun disappeared in a rosy mist that hung over the land, and night came on. The John and Katherine was passing St. Thoma when she was hailed by a boat. Mrs. Nicks went up on deck and the ship was hove to. A voice called from the boat asking for a rope to be thrown. Presently, to Kitty’s astonishment, Solomon fell at her feet.

“Lady, let me come with you,” he prayed.

“To wait upon my children?” she asked, looking at the man before her, a wreck of his former self and his face strangely scarred with weals that betrayed the cruel use of the lash.

“No, lady; not as bearer again. I bring bad luck to those I serve and love. Let me go as far as Cuddalore with you. I have learned that my wife was sent to Bencoolen. I go to seek her.”

Mrs. Nicks granted his request and the boat was cast off, after Solomon’s bundle containing his personal property, which did not amount to much, was handed up.

He made a second request after the ship had proceeded on her way. He wished to speak to Miss Armadale. Kitty took him down to the Little saloon. Margery was busy in the children’s cabin seeing her tired charges tucked up and made comfortable in the quaint cots which served instead of berths. The motion of the vessel was already bringing sleep to their heavy eyes.

“Here’s a strange thing, Margery,” she whispered. “Solomon has just come on board—we are off St. Thoma, passing the mouth of the river—with a request that he may go with us to Cuddalore. I have consented to take him. Before going to the servants’ quarters he would like to see you.”

They went into the saloon and the bearer took from his bundle a book which he presented to Margery. She started at the sight of it. It was Piet’s old Bible, the Bible she hated the sight of in the old days.

“Take it, missie; it is the good book,” he said, putting it in her hands.

Had she been on deck she would have thrown it then and there into the sea. Being in the saloon she could not do so. Instead she put it on the table pushing it from her as though its very touch was an offence. Solomon lifted his bundle and salaamed before retiring. Mrs. Nicks followed him out.

“Where did you get that book, Solomon?” she asked, detaining him in the gangway.

“I found it,” he replied, avoiding her eye.

“Where?” demanded Mrs. Nicks in a tone that compelled him, a servant accustomed to obey, to reply.

“Near the Muckwa village; not far from the St. Thoma Gate.”

He raised his eyes to hers and there was a pause while the two gazed at each other. By the light of the lantern hanging above she could see the wounds across his face. His eyes had had a narrow escape; but his lip had suffered; it had been cut open. She remembered the whip that was found in the dead man’s hand and the charge brought by the African against the President’s servant. Considering all things Mrs. Nicks was not one to interfere with the ruling of fate. There was no evidence whatever to implicate Solomon. She chose to accept the verdict of the community and absolve him from complicity.

“Why do you give the book to missie?”

“It is the good book and it will bring her good. In the hands of evil men it brings evil.”

It was evident that the bearer regarded it with superstition and was glad to be relieved of it. By saving the volume from the pollution of the death chamber of a wicked man and placing it in safety in the keeping of a good woman, Solomon in his ignorance believed that he acquired sufficient merit to avert the wrath of the Deity.

Mrs. Nicks asked no more questions, but dismissed him with directions to go to the steward for his food and bed.

Margery quickly recovered from the feeling of repulsion that overcame her at the sight of the familiar volume. She took it up with curiosity and examined the antique clasps which were of silver and closed with a secret spring. They resisted all her efforts to open them.

“Give the book to me and let me have a try,” said Kitty, seating herself at the table of the saloon.

After a few ineffectual attempts she succeeded in opening the clasps and disclosing the pages of the Old Testament in Dutch. She turned them over rapidly unable to decipher the text.

“Why, what is this?” she cried in sudden excitement. “See here, Margery! Where the New Testament should be the book is solid!”

She felt all over it for spring or clasp while Margery looked on in breathless silence. For a long time it resisted her efforts.

“Bring me a knife, Margery. There is one in the sideboard drawer.”

Suddenly she found what she was seeking. The end of the book moved inwards under pressure. Kitty shook it and out fell a number of diamonds of different sizes, some large, some small, but taken all together they were of considerable value.

“Diamonds, Margery, diamonds!” cried Kitty, now in a wild state of excitement, as she swept them up with a swift movement and put them back into the receptacle that should have contained the New Testament. She glanced round quickly to see if any servant had come into the saloon. It was approaching the time for supper to be laid.

“This then is the secret of the Dutchman being seen so constantly with his Bible!” said Mrs. Nicks. “He was a crafty one, he was! with his cargo of coco-nuts, his Bible, his faked papers of the mythical Rampore! He has met with his fate and it has saved the council from a trial that might have involved them with the Dutch of Masulipatam.”

“Poor Piet!” said Margery, who was reluctant to think evil of him even now. “He really believed that the heathen were delivered into his hand to do as he pleased with; and that there was no wrong in selling the poor creatures into slavery.”

“I am not so sure of that,” said Mrs. Nicks, who had taken an accurate measure of the Dutchman’s character. “These diamonds are yours now. Never mind how they have come into your possession. They cannot be returned to Piet. His aunt does not want them; and it would only add to poor old Jearsey’s distress if he thought their nephew had added diamond dealing to slave dealing. Put them away safely and come up on deck while the servants lay the cloth. The night is glorious and we are sailing towards happiness. Let us forget the miserable man.”

Kitty’s spirits were rising fast; but Margery sighed as she followed her friend up the companion stairs. Her happiness had perished with her lover who was lying in the depths of the Bay of Bengal.

Two days later the John and Katherine cast anchor at daybreak off Cuddalore. At high tide she was to pass into the river.

There were two or three impatient souls on shore, however, who could not wait. A boat was seen in the pale twilight of dawn putting off through the surf. News was sent down to Mrs. Nicks that Mr. Nicks was coming on board.

The children who were still in bed bounded out of their cots and demanded to be dressed with all speed. The ayahs had enough to do to fasten hooks and buttons while Margery was hastening with her own toilet.

There was a sound of oars and voices outside the ship. A rope was thrown and three men climbed on board. Nicks ran down to the saloon, where he soon had his wife in his arms. He relinquished her to clasp the little girls, each in turn to his heart as they broke loose from the ayahs and rushed into the saloon.

Two men stood behind Nicks, smiling at the family meeting. Kitty shook hands with them and then looked at Margery, who had just entered. One was Captain Goodwyn. The other——?

Tall, fair, sunburnt, his arms outstretched, George Creede approached her. She could not believe her eyes. With a little cry she leaned against the door of the saloon, hiding her face in her hands. In another second he had her in his arms.

“Sweetheart! don’t look so scared! It is myself and none other, really and truly, and by these tokens.”

Under his warm kisses she revived. Then seeing the amused but kind smile on Captain Goodwyn’s face and the surprise on the part of the little girls, she shyly withdrew herself from his embrace.

“They told me you were drowned!” she cried in a voice that she found difficult to command. “That you fell overboard and sank like a stone.”

“That was an excellent story for the council; and one that it is just as well that they should continue to believe, since they have learned that John Mitchell of the garrison is none other than Creede, the interloper,” said George as his arm went round her waist. “I certainly did sink when I took my plunge, as we lay off Cuddalore. It happened most oddly”—here Kitty laughed—“that a boat belonging to our good friend was near the ship at the time. It picked me up or I should have had to swim ashore as I did at St. Thoma—unless a shark had made a meal off me.”

“How did you know that he was being shipped off, Mrs. Nicks?” asked Margery, still bewildered and hardly daring to believe that her lover was alive.

“We have to thank Sergeant Ryan for that. He took back a message to John Mitchell,” said Kitty, delighted to tell the story of how she once more had outwitted the council. “I charged him to let me know by puttemar when the council intended to ship Mitchell off to Bencoolen. I had fishing boats out day and night watching for the ship which we knew must pass this port and stop for cargo for the west coast and that’s all.”

“Not quite all, Miss Armadale,” said Goodwyn. “Mrs. Nicks did something more than save the life of Mr. Creede. She has given him a new ship which has been fitted under my personal supervision at Nursapore. She hasn’t forgotten Ryan, either. He is to have his discharge bought for him next month.”

“As soon as you are ready, dear heart, we will sail for England,” said Creede.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then went up to Kitty and treated her in precisely the same manner to her husband’s great amusement, and if it may be said, to Goodwyn’s envy!

⁎  ⁎  ⁎

There remains little more to be told. Solomon had no suspicion of the true nature of the Dutchman’s Bible and its contents; nor was he ever informed. Mrs. Nicks gave him a passage across the Bay to Bencoolen in one of her coasting vessels. Piet’s Bible furnished a sum of money more than sufficient to purchase Mary’s freedom and bring them back to India. As for his departure from the Fort without leave, Kitty promised to set the matter right with Mrs. Yale and obtain his freedom.

Goodwyn played the part of chaplain on the high seas, there being no clergyman at Cuddalore, and married George and Margery one balmy day when the ship was running smoothly under full sail homeward bound over the Indian Ocean. Creede carried Kitty’s diamonds for her and realized a handsome sum which he duly placed to her credit. At the same time he repaid the loan she had made to enable him to buy the ship which replaced the ill-fated Raven.

⁎  ⁎  ⁎

Note.—Yale governed Fort St. George from 1687 to 1692. His later years were troubled by friend and relative as he had prophesied would be the case. His brother Thomas as well as his old friend Kitty Nicks involved him in difficulties connected with free-trading.

When Higgenson succeeded to the Presidential chair he proved hard and inexorable. Yale refuted the accusations that were brought against him of private trading, in a masterly minute which is recorded in the Company’s books at Madras. It satisfied the Directors as to his integrity.

He sent Mrs. Yale and the three little girls home to England soon after his term of office was ended, while he remained behind to realize his large fortune.

Before his tenure of power in Madras ended, he purchased for the Company the fort at Tevenaputnam mentioned by Mrs. Nicks. He called it Fort St. David, a name shrouded in the tender memories of a little son. It is known by that name to this day.

In 1699 he returned to England and shortly afterwards was made Governor of New York.

His name is commemorated in America, the land of his birth, by the College, which he endowed in Connecticut and which bears his name.

His daughter Annie afterwards became the Duchess of Devonshire.

He died in London and was buried in Wrexham, to which place his family belonged. The following epitaph is taken from his tombstone:

The End