It was he who saw to it that the luggage was transferred to the lighter which came out to the steamer when she dropped anchor off the town of Aratat; it was he who counted the pieces and haggled with the boatmen; it was he who carried off the hand luggage when the native dock boys refused to engage in the work; it was he who unfortunately dropped a suitcase upon the hallowed tail of the red cocker, an accident which ever afterward gave him a tenacity of grip that no man could understand; it was he who made all of the inquiries, did all of the necessary swearing, and came last in the procession which wended its indignant way up the long slope to the chateau on the mountain side.

If Lady Deppingham expected a royal welcome from the inhabitants of Japat, she was soon to discover her error.  Not only was the pictured scene of welcome missing on the afternoon of her arrival, but an overpowering air of antipathy smote her in the face as she stepped from the lighter—­conquest in her smile of conciliation.  The attitude of the brown-faced Mohammedans who looked coldly upon the fair visitor was far from amiable.  They did not fall down and bob their heads; they did not even incline them in response to her overtures.  What was more trying, they glared at the newcomers in a most expressive manner.  Lady Deppingham’s chin was interrupted in its tilt of defiance by the shudder of alarm which raced through her slender figure.  She glanced from right to left down the lines of swarthy islanders, and saw nothing in their faces but surly, bitter unfriendliness.  They stood stolidly, stonily at a distance, white-robed lines of resentment personified.

Not a hand was lifted in assistance to the bewildered visitors; not a word, not a smile of encouragement escaped the lips of the silent throng.

Lady Agnes looked about eagerly in search of a white man’s face, but there was none to be seen except in her own party.  A moment of panic came to her as she stood there on the pier, almost alone, while Saunders and her husband were engaged in the effort to secure help with the boxes.  Behind her lay the friendly ocean; ahead the gorgeous landscape, smiling down upon her with the green glow of poison in its sunny face, dark treachery in its heart.  On the instant she realised that these people were her enemies, and that they were the real masters of the island, after all.  She found herself wondering whether they meant to settle the question of ownership then and there, before she could so much as set her foot upon the coveted soil at the end of the pier.  A hundred knives might hack her to pieces, but even as she shuddered a rush of true British doggedness warmed her blood; after all, she was there to fight for her rights and she would stand her ground.  Almost before she realised, the dominant air of superiority which characterises her nation, no matter whither its subjects may roam, crept out above her brief touch of timidity, and she found that she could stare defiantly into the swarthy ranks.