the sweetness of her voice, but I never turned my head.  The sun rose and still we went on.  Water fell from my face like rain from a cloud.  We flew in the light and heat.  I never looked back, but I knew that my brother’s eyes, behind me, were looking steadily ahead, for the boat went as straight as a bushman’s dart, when it leaves the end of the sumpitan.  There was no better paddler, no better steersman than my brother.  Many times, together, we had won races in that canoe.  But we never had put out our strength as we did then—­then, when for the last time we paddled together!  There was no braver or stronger man in our country than my brother.  I could not spare the strength to turn my head and look at him, but every moment I heard the hiss of his breath getting louder behind me.  Still he did not speak.  The sun was high.  The heat clung to my back like a flame of fire.  My ribs were ready to burst, but I could no longer get enough air into my chest.  And then I felt I must cry out with my last breath, ’Let us rest!’ . . .  ‘Good!’ he answered; and his voice was firm.  He was strong.  He was brave.  He knew not fear and no fatigue . . .  My brother!”

A murmur powerful and gentle, a murmur vast and faint; the murmur of trembling leaves, of stirring boughs, ran through the tangled depths of the forests, ran over the starry smoothness of the lagoon, and the water between the piles lapped the slimy timber once with a sudden splash.  A breath of warm air touched the two men’s faces and passed on with a mournful sound—­a breath loud and short like an uneasy sigh of the dreaming earth.

Arsat went on in an even, low voice.

“We ran our canoe on the white beach of a little bay close to a long tongue of land that seemed to bar our road; a long wooded cape going far into the sea.  My brother knew that place.  Beyond the cape a river has its entrance, and through the jungle of that land there is a narrow path.  We made a fire and cooked rice.  Then we lay down to sleep on the soft sand in the shade of our canoe, while she watched.  No sooner had I closed my eyes than I heard her cry of alarm.  We leaped up.  The sun was halfway down the sky already, and coming in sight in the opening of the bay we saw a prau manned by many paddlers.  We knew it at once; it was one of our Rajah’s praus.  They were watching the shore, and saw us.  They beat the gong, and turned the head of the prau into the bay.  I felt my heart become weak within my breast.  Diamelen sat on the sand and covered her face.  There was no escape by sea.  My brother laughed.  He had the gun you had given him, Tuan, before you went away, but there was only a handful of powder.  He spoke to me quickly:  ’Run with her along the path.  I shall keep them back, for they have no firearms, and landing in the face of a man with a gun is certain death for some.  Run with her.  On the other side of that wood there is a fisherman’s house—­and a canoe.  When I have fired