CHAPTER XII



The Moorsoms did manage to catch the homeward mail boat all right,
but had only twenty-four hours in town. Thus the sentimental
Willie could not see very much of them. This did not prevent him
afterwards from relating at great length, with manly tears in his
eyes, how poor Miss Moorsom--the fashionable and clever beauty--
found her betrothed in Malata only to see him die in her arms.
Most people were deeply touched by the sad story. It was the talk
of a good many days.

But the all-knowing Editor, Renouard's only friend and crony,
wanted to know more than the rest of the world. From professional
incontinence, perhaps, he thirsted for a full cup of harrowing
detail. And when he noticed Renouard's schooner lying in port day
after day he sought the sailing master to learn the reason. The
man told him that such were his instructions. He had been ordered
to lie there a month before returning to Malata. And the month was
nearly up. "I will ask you to give me a passage," said the Editor.

He landed in the morning at the bottom of the garden and found
peace, stillness, sunshine reigning everywhere, the doors and
windows of the bungalow standing wide open, no sight of a human
being anywhere, the plants growing rank and tall on the deserted
fields. For hours the Editor and the schooner's crew, excited by