And it seemed to me, during that moment of waiting, that the cabin of the schooner was becoming filled with a stir invisible and living as of subtle breaths.  All the ghosts driven out of the unbelieving West by men who pretend to be wise and alone and at peace—­all the homeless ghosts of an unbelieving world—­appeared suddenly round the figure of Hollis bending over the box; all the exiled and charming shades of loved women; all the beautiful and tender ghosts of ideals, remembered, forgotten, cherished, execrated; all the cast-out and reproachful ghosts of friends admired, trusted, traduced, betrayed, left dead by the way—­they all seemed to come from the inhospitable regions of the earth to crowd into the gloomy cabin, as though it had been a refuge and, in all the unbelieving world, the only place of avenging belief. . . .  It lasted a second—­all disappeared.  Hollis was facing us alone with something small that glittered between his fingers.  It looked like a coin.

“Ah! here it is,” he said.

He held it up.  It was a sixpence—­a Jubilee sixpence.  It was gilt; it had a hole punched near the rim.  Hollis looked towards Karain.

“A charm for our friend,” he said to us.  “The thing itself is of great power—­money, you know—­and his imagination is struck.  A loyal vagabond; if only his puritanism doesn’t shy at a likeness . . .”

We said nothing.  We did not know whether to be scandalized, amused, or relieved.  Hollis advanced towards Karain, who stood up as if startled, and then, holding the coin up, spoke in Malay.

“This is the image of the Great Queen, and the most powerful thing the white men know,” he said, solemnly.

Karain covered the handle of his kriss in sign of respect, and stared at the crowned head.

“The Invincible, the Pious,” he muttered.

“She is more powerful than Suleiman the Wise, who commanded the genii, as you know,” said Hollis, gravely.  “I shall give this to you.”

He held the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and looking at it thoughtfully, spoke to us in English.

“She commands a spirit, too—­the spirit of her nation; a masterful, conscientious, unscrupulous, unconquerable devil . . . that does a lot of good—­incidentally . . . a lot of good . . . at times—­and wouldn’t stand any fuss from the best ghost out for such a little thing as our friend’s shot.  Don’t look thunderstruck, you fellows.  Help me to make him believe—­everything’s in that.”

“His people will be shocked,” I murmured.

Hollis looked fixedly at Karain, who was the incarnation of the very essence of still excitement.  He stood rigid, with head thrown back; his eyes rolled wildly, flashing; the dilated nostrils quivered.

“Hang it all!” said Hollis at last, “he is a good fellow.  I’ll give him something that I shall really miss.”

He took the ribbon out of the box, smiled at it scornfully, then with a pair of scissors cut out a piece from the palm of the glove.