"Of course he is a Malay," said the part-owner of the house-boat. "He is

Sally, you know-a Malay boss of sorts. We all knew him when we were at Winchester. He is being educated in England privately, not at the school; but he is an awfully decent little chap, and was very pally with a lot of us."

The

Jack Norris stepped out on to the bows, and stood for a minute in his bathing-pants looking across the river. The Englishmen had abandoned the hopeless chase, and the little Malay was swimming back to them, breasting the current with the unmistakable long overhand stroke of his people. sight, and the echo of the cry which still rang in his ears, brought back to Norris suddenly the memory of many a swim in the glorious rivers of the Malay Peninsula; and for a space the banks around him, with their fringe of moored house-boats and floating stages, the trim towingpath opposite skirting the tall brick wall, and the great shapeless pile of Hampton Court Palace, its windowpanes winking in the sunlight, its ruddy bulk surmounted by grotesque chimney-stacks, picked out with white masonry and set with grinning gargoyles, were rolled back. He seemed once more to be standing on the beak of a Malayan prahu, with an olivegreen tide of waters surging past him and spreading away and away to the marvellous tangles of forest that stood, more than half a mile apart, hedging the river on either flank. Then he braced himself and took a header from the bow, and the chill of the English stream smote him with a shock of surprise, for so complete had been the momentary illusion that he had expected

When he rose to the surface he found himself close to the man they called "Sally." His face the boyish, hairless face of a young Malay-was turned towards him. The great, black, velvety, melancholy eyes of his race looked at Norris from their place in the flawless, olive-tinted skin in which they were set. The mouth, somewhat full, with mobile sensitive lips that pouted slightly, had just that sweetness of expression that is most often seen in the face of a little child. The features were clean-cut, delicate, giving promise of more adaptability than strength of character: the whole effect was pretty and pleasing, for this was a Malay of rank and breeding, the offspring of men who for uncounted generations have had the fairest women of their land to wife.

Mechanically Norris spoke in the vernacular.

"What is the news?" he asked, using the conventional greeting. "Khabar baik! The news is good!" the Malay answered, speaking the words from sheer force of habit, and he eyed Norris curiously with evident surprise. Then his face lighted up with a gleam of recognition, and his lips, parting in a grin, disclosed two even rows of beautiful white teeth,— teeth such as belong by right to every Malay, did not the inexplicable fashion of this people order them to be mutilated with the stone-file and blackened by indelible pigment.

"Ya Allah, Tûan Nori'! It is thou!" he exclaimed.

The word or two of the vernacular, to which he added the popular mispronunciation of Jack's name, slipped from him unconsciously. An instant later he corrected himself.

"Do you remember me?" he asked in English. "I am Raja Saleh of Pelesu. I met you las' at Kâru."

He spoke his acquired language fluently, but with a strong foreign intonation, lengthening the flat English vowels and eliding the last of two final consonants. His words unlocked a forgotten chamber of Jack's memory, and at once the boy himself, his identity, his circumstances, and all connected with him, were made so clear that Norris fell to wondering how it had come to pass that, even for a moment, he had failed to recognize him. Immediately the Englishman and the Malay were busy interchanging news, the former chatting volubly of men and places with strange names, that surely had never before been spoken on the bosom of the ancient Thames, the latter listening and replying, but with a certain indifference and aloofness that were curious. Once more, from force of habit, Norris spoke in the vernacular. Using the Malayan idiom like his own mother tongue, he had never yet met a native who did not prefer to converse with him in that language, or who was completely at his best when employing the white man's speech. The foreign tongue seems in some subtle fashion to emphasize defects in taste and character which the more

familiar vernacular mercifully hides. Iang-ulia Râja Muhammad Saleh bin Iang-Maha-Mulia Sultan Abubakar Maätham Shah Iang-di-perTuan Pelesu, however,—to give his full title to the youth who was known to his English friends by the undistinguished name of "Sally,"-had not heard Malay spoken for years, and he seemed now to shy away from it, as though it were not only unfamiliar, but also, in some sort, distressing to him. It was only at a much later period of their intercourse that Saleh came back to his Malayan tongue, and found in it the only medium of expression with which to convey to Jack an understanding of the feelings that were in his heart.

Now, as the bathers dressed themselves on board the house-boat,-Saleh standing amongst them all in complete unconsciousness of the nakedness which would have outraged the sense of decency of the meanest of his subjects,-Jack was busy piecing together all that he could recollect concerning his past meetings with the lad. So again the familiar surroundings of the home-land faded, and were replaced by scenes that he had looked upon, lived through, years before, and thousands of miles away, on the banks of a mighty Malayan river.

II.

They rose up singly,-these scattered memories of incidents in which Saleh had played a part, lingered for a moment, and were gone; for the mind, when it wanders in retrospect, knows no trammels of space or time, and, flashing hither and thither at will, throws sudden gleams into the dark places with all the speed and the vividness of lightning. Thus, as in silence Norris dressed himself amid the hum of talk on board the house-boat, the trivial happenings of nearly a score of years were reviewed in less than half as many minutes, each picture rising before him clear-cut and complete to the last detail, glimmering for an instant ere it vanished to give room to another-just as a view cast by a magic-lantern leaps whole and sudden out of the darkness, burns its impression upon our eyesight, and in a flash is blotted out.

Three big wooden houses, raised on piles above the untidy litter of a compound, connected each to each by narrow gangways roofed and walled; three high-pitched pyramids of thatch, the dried palm-leaves rustling and lifting under the full beat of the noontide sun; a big brown river rolling by, with a dull murmur of sound, beyond the

ten-foot fence of wattled bamboos which encloses in its lop-sided square this palace of a native king. In the central house Jack Norris squats crosslegged, surrounded by a mob of expectant Malays of both sexes. The great barn-like apartment is bare, save for the mengkuang-palm mats spread upon the floor; and the bellying squares of ceiling-patchwork sagging from the rafters overhead, whence, near the center of the room, a big hammock also depends, swaying gently to and fro. Above the hammock, in dingy contrast to glaring patterns of the Manchester ceiling-cloths, an old casting-net, whereof the soiled and rent meshes prove that it has seen much service, hangs in an uneven oblong. It is a barrier raised against the assaults of the Pen-anggal-the Undone One-that fearful wraith of a woman who has died in child-birth, and who cherishes for ever a quenchless enmity towards little children. She, poor wretch, wrenched terribly in twain, is doomed to flit eternally through the night,-a dreadful shape with agonized woman's face, full breasts, and nought beside save only certain awful bloodstained streamers, bringing a curse of destruction wherever she can win an entry. But the gods, who suffer such things to be, mercifully ordain that her onslaughts upon defenceless babes can only be made from above, and a discarded casting-net dipped in magicwater, it is well known, will often stay and baffle her. Yet even now, perchance, she may be lurking, unseen by impotent human eyes, in the hammock itself, wherefore due precaution must be taken ere the royal baby can be safely laid to rest therein.

As the crowd sits watching, a grim figure strides into the centre of the room. It is that of an aged woman, tall, erect, with a fierce mouth, wild eyes, and a tumble of shaggy elf-locks making an unsightly halo about her

lean face, a woman dressed in the male costume of a Malay warrior. It is Raja Anjang-the witch of the blood royal-and at her coming a little wave of tremor ripples over the faces of the Malay onlookers. She is in a condition of trance-possessed by her familiar demons: those unseeing eyes and every rigid muscle in her big angular frame bear witness to her uncanny state, and no man knows with certainty what will befall while this inspired beldam fills the stage. She wanders round and round the hammock, moving with long masculine strides, muttering fearfully words of a forgotten language which none save the wizards know; and her elf-locks, stirring restlessly, seem to be lifted by winds which should have no place in that still atmosphere. Then stooping, she seizes suddenly upon a reluctant cat, which the onlookers thrust within her reach, and clutches the miauling creature to her flat breasts with merciless grip. A chorus of minor witches squatting on her right breaks into a wild chant of incantation, while the devil-drums sob and pant in time to the rhythm of the dirge. With her disengaged hand Râja Anjang seizes the cord of the hammock and sets it swinging in time to the chant, which grows momentarily wilder and wilder. The women who form the chorus are rocking themselves backward and forward in a kind of hysteria of excitement; the hands that smite the drums are raised between each stroke high in the air with fingers wriggling rapidly in frantic gesticulation; the hair and the garments of the hag by the hammock are agitated anew, as though those unearthly breezes, which are yet unfelt by the spectators, were raging mightily. When the weird song is at its shrillest the cat is dropped into the sag of the hammock, whence it scrambles quickly on to the mat-covered floor. It is promptly recaptured by those nearest

A

to it, and the witch pounces upon it with the spring of a tigress. Again, and yet a third time, the unhappy beast is clutched to that comfortless bosom, is dropped into the hammock, and at the last is suffered to make its escape, spitting and scratching with bared claws and humped back. wild cry goes up from the mouths of all the Malays present, and is succeeded by a heavy silence. The witch sinks to the floor in a shapeless bundle, sweating profusely, and rocks to and fro with smothered moans and cries. Her struggle with the ghastly Pen-anggal has left her utterly spent. The close atmosphere of the room is heavy with the reek of incense.

A little pause ensues, the stillness of which is tense with the recent excitement, and then from the inner apartment a huddled procession of women makes its way, headed by the king himself, a great rolling figure clad in glaring colors.

One of the women

carries a tiny burden swaddled in cloth-of-gold, the upper folds of which being presently drawn aside reveal the existence of a minute head. With much state and ceremony the crown of this head is solemnly shaved, the invisible fluff shorn from it being reverently treasured, and when this operation has been performed, the baby is at last placed in the hammock, whence all evil spirits have now departed for their new abode in the body of the miserable cat.

A priest in a green jubah and ample red turban, who has sat complacently watching the magic practices which are an abomination to the Prophet's Law, stands erect and recites a rolling Arabic prayer with breathless fluency, his audience sitting with hands on knees and curved palms uppermost, chiming in at intervals with long "Amins!"

Then the spectators rise to their feet, and each in turn files past the hammock, and looks down at the child as

he drops a dollar or two into a basket placed convenient for the purpose. Jack Norris, as he stands gazing down at the infant, sees a small brick-red disk, with a slack, slowly moving mouth, a shapeless button of a nose, a skin all crumpled with puckers, and two big dull eyes made grotesque by enormous arched eyebrows traced with soot upon the wrinkled forehead. The rest of the baby is immobile in its lashing of swaddling-clothes, and is imbedded deeply in a nest of gorgeous Malayan silks.

It is thus that Jack gets his first glimpse of the boy whom his English friends call "Sally."

It is late at night in the audience hall of the king,-a big bare room without ornament or furniture,-and the monarch, nude to the waist, is squatting on a mat beside a Chinese gambling-cloth. Around him sit a number of his courtiers, and facing him are two yellow Chinamen in loose coats and trousers of shining black linen. In the centre of the cloth there rests a little square box made of dull brass, and presently, at a sign from the king, one of the courtiers begins to draw upward with maddening slowness the outer cover, which fits very closely over the inner box. A dead silence reigns while all eyes are riveted upon the dice-box and the hand that lifts its cover. Little by little, a fraction of an inch at a time, the outer box is raised, the narrower column of brass within it being disclosed more and more, standing squarely on the mat. At last the cover is free of that which it has encased, and more slowly than ever the courtier proceeds to twist it round in such a fashion that presently a corner of the hidden die will be made visible. The gamblers are leaning forward now with straining eyes; they draw their breaths pantingly; and still the hand gripping the

dice-box moves with incredible slowness. The notes and dollars are piled in little heaps all in one quarter of the mat. The obsequious courtiers have followed the inspiration of their king.

There is another second or two of tense excitement and expectation, and then a shout is raised,-a shout which is discordant and angry, tingling with passionate disappointment-a shout with which are blent imprecations and fierce ejaculations of disgust-a shout which ends in a sound 1 like a sob. The king's inspiration has failed him, and he and his courtiers, in consequence, are the poorer by many good silver dollars. It is the last coup of a disastrous evening, and the king, who is a prudent soul withal, will have no more of it. The Chinamen gather up their gaming-gear and their winnings, and depart into the night. Their unemotional faces-faces "like wooden planks," as the Malay idiom has itbetray no consciousness of the obvious hatred which they inspire. They are quite indifferent to it, for the money is duly pouched, and they know that the justice-loving British Government, in the person of the Resident, sits mighty and impassive on the river's farther bank, and takes thought even for the property and the lives of the despised yellow man. A little naked boy, who has been sleeping fitfully with his head pillowed on a courtier's knee, rouses himself, puts on an enormous orange-colored cap a size too large for him (his only garment), lights a cigarette, and sits listening gravely to the hum of talk about him,-talk of all that might have been had chance proved less fickle. He is Râja Saleh, the king's baby son.

Jack Norris, who has been watching the play with such patience as he can command, sees that his time has come at last. He has visited the palace in order to have speech with the king concerning some of that shameless

monarch's most glaring misdemeanors, -matters connected with an abducted wife, an aggrieved husband, and a pack of motherless bairns-a squalid tragedy, in which the king has played the part of an ignoble Mephistopheles. The culprit is curiously insensitive. His feelings, overlaid by many strata of ruffianism and self-content, are things which have to be dug for. He knows now what has brought Norris to his hall, but he evinces no desire that the humiliating discussion about to take place should be conducted in private. In a sense he is somewhat proud of his achievement, for it is not every man of his years who can be such a devastating roué as he, and he enters with gusto into a lurid account of his indiscretions, making display of an unfettered coarseness of speech and thought, while the little angel-faced boy, his son, sits at his side looking preternaturally wise. It is not the first time that the child has been priv ileged to listen to an exposition of his father's crude notions concerning morality and seemliness of conduct. It is Jack, not the king or his people, who is irked by the boy's presence, and finds the ugly discussion doubly de grading while those big sad eyes are fixed upon him. To the Malays the innocence of childhood makes no appeal: to them there is nothing incongruous in the subject of the talk and its baby audience. But duty may not be shirked; the matter must be threshed out, and before such listeners as the king may select; wherefore ignoble passions, and the wanton cruelities born of them, are freely canvassed for an hour or more. The discussion, as all who take part in it know well, is only a form, but it is deemed to be necessary in order to salve the royal self-esteem and render possible the king's inevitable surrender to a power greater than his own.

When at last the end is reached.