“I saw her!  The consoler of sleepless nights, of weary days; the companion of troubled years!  I saw her!  She looked straight at the place where I crouched.  She was there as I had seen her for years—­a faithful wanderer by my side.  She looked with sad eyes and had smiling lips; she looked at me . . .  Smiling lips!  Had I not promised that she should not die!

“She was far off and I felt her near.  Her touch caressed me, and her voice murmured, whispered above me, around me.  ’Who shall be thy companion, who shall console thee if I die?’ I saw a flowering thicket to the left of her stir a little . . .  Matara was ready . . .  I cried aloud—­’Return!’

“She leaped up; the box fell; the pearls streamed at her feet.  The big Dutchman by her side rolled menacing eyes through the still sunshine.  The gun went up to my shoulder.  I was kneeling and I was firm—­firmer than the trees, the rocks, the mountains.  But in front of the steady long barrel the fields, the house, the earth, the sky swayed to and fro like shadows in a forest on a windy day.  Matara burst out of the thicket; before him the petals of torn flowers whirled high as if driven by a tempest.  I heard her cry; I saw her spring with open arms in front of the white man.  She was a woman of my country and of noble blood.  They are so!  I heard her shriek of anguish and fear—­and all stood still!  The fields, the house, the earth, the sky stood still—­while Matara leaped at her with uplifted arm.  I pulled the trigger, saw a spark, heard nothing; the smoke drove back into my face, and then I could see Matara roll over head first and lie with stretched arms at her feet.  Ha!  A sure shot!  The sunshine fell on my back colder than the running water.  A sure shot!  I flung the gun after the shot.  Those two stood over the dead man as though they had been bewitched by a charm.  I shouted at her, ’Live and remember!’ Then for a time I stumbled about in a cold darkness.

“Behind me there were great shouts, the running of many feet; strange men surrounded me, cried meaningless words into my face, pushed me, dragged me, supported me . . .  I stood before the big Dutchman:  he stared as if bereft of his reason.  He wanted to know, he talked fast, he spoke of gratitude, he offered me food, shelter, gold—­he asked many questions.  I laughed in his face.  I said, ’I am a Korinchi traveller from Perak over there, and know nothing of that dead man.  I was passing along the path when I heard a shot, and your senseless people rushed out and dragged me here.’  He lifted his arms, he wondered, he could not believe, he could not understand, he clamoured in his own tongue!  She had her arms clasped round his neck, and over her shoulder stared back at me with wide eyes.  I smiled and looked at her; I smiled and waited to hear the sound of her voice.  The white man asked her suddenly.  ’Do you know him?’ I listened—­my life was in my ears!  She looked at me long, she looked at me with unflinching eyes, and said aloud, ’No!  I never saw him before.’ . . .  What!  Never before?  Had she forgotten already?  Was it possible?  Forgotten already—­after so many years—­so many years of wandering, of companionship, of trouble, of tender words!  Forgotten already! . . .  I tore myself out from the hands that held me and went away without a word . . .  They let me go.