"If there is anywhere a woman or child belonging to him, I--my serang
would know--I shall seek them out," cried Lingard, remorsefully.

"You speak like a chief," said Hassim, "only our great men do not go
to battle with naked hands. O you white men! O the valour of you white
men!"

"It was folly, pure folly," protested Lingard, "and this poor fellow has
paid for it."

"He could not avoid his destiny," murmured the Malay. "It is in my mind
my trading is finished now in this place," he added, cheerfully.

Lingard expressed his regret.

"It is no matter, it is no matter," assured the other courteously, and
after Lingard had given a pressing invitation for Hassim and his two
companions of high rank to visit the brig, the two parties separated.

The evening was calm when the Malay craft left its berth near the shore
and was rowed slowly across the bay to Lingard's anchorage. The end of a
stout line was thrown on board, and that night the white man's brig and
the brown man's prau swung together to the same anchor.

The sun setting to seaward shot its last rays between the headlands,
when the body of the killed Lascar, wrapped up decently in a white
sheet, according to Mohammedan usage, was lowered gently below the
still waters of the bay upon which his curious glances, only a few
hours before, had rested for the first time. At the moment the dead man,
released from slip-ropes, disappeared without a ripple before the eyes