"Excellent wife," said Willems, in a dreary voice, looking far over the
black and scintillating water.

"Very well then," went on Lingard, with increasing friendliness.
"Nothing wrong there. But did you really think that Hudig was marrying
you off and giving you a house and I don't know what, out of love for
you?"

"I had served him well," answered Willems. "How well, you know
yourself--through thick and thin. No matter what work and what risk, I
was always there; always ready."

How well he saw the greatness of his work and the immensity of that
injustice which was his reward. She was that man's daughter!

In the light of this disclosure the facts of the last five years of his
life stood clearly revealed in their full meaning. He had spoken first
to Joanna at the gate of their dwelling as he went to his work in
the brilliant flush of the early morning, when women and flowers are
charming even to the dullest eyes. A most respectable family--two women
and a young man--were his next-door neighbours. Nobody ever came to
their little house but the priest, a native from the Spanish islands,
now and then. The young man Leonard he had met in town, and was
flattered by the little fellow's immense respect for the great Willems.
He let him bring chairs, call the waiters, chalk his cues when playing
billiards, express his admiration in choice words. He even condescended
to listen patiently to Leonard's allusions to "our beloved father," a
man of official position, a government agent in Koti, where he died of
cholera, alas! a victim to duty, like a good Catholic, and a good man.