What a terrible blow for him, when news of the departure of the “Pilgrim” and the embarkation of Mrs. Weldon should reach him from his correspondents in Auckland!  What had he done?  Had he refused to believe that his son and she had perished at sea?  But then, where would he search?  Evidently on the isles of the Pacific, perhaps on the American coast.  But never, no never, would the thought occur to him that she had been thrown on the coast of this fatal Africa!

So thought Mrs. Weldon.  But what could she attempt?  Flee!  How?  She was closely watched.  And then to flee was to venture into those thick forests, in the midst of a thousand dangers, to attempt a journey of more than two hundred miles to reach the coast.  And meanwhile Mrs. Weldon was decided to do it, if no other means offered themselves for her to recover her liberty.  But, first, she wished to know exactly what Negoro’s designs were.

At last she knew them.

On the 6th of June, three days after the burial of Kazounde’s king, Negoro entered the factory, where he had not yet set foot since his return.  He went right to the hut occupied by his prisoner.

Mrs. Weldon was alone.  Cousin Benedict was taking one of his scientific walks.  Little Jack, watched by the slave Halima, was walking in the enclosure of the establishment.

Negoro pushed open the door of the hut without knocking.

“Mrs. Weldon,” said he, “Tom and his companions have been sold for the markets of Oujiji!”

“May God protect them!” said Mrs.  “Weldon, shedding tears.

“Nan died on the way, Dick Sand has perished——­”

“Nan dead! and Dick!” cried Mrs. Weldon.

“Yes, it is just for your captain of fifteen to pay for Harris’s murder with his life,” continued Negoro.  “You are alone in Kazounde, mistress; alone, in the power of the ‘Pilgrim’s’ old cook—­absolutely alone, do you understand?”

What Negoro said was only too true, even concerning Tom and his friends.  The old black man, his son Bat, Acteon and Austin had departed the day before with the trader of Oujiji’s caravan, without the consolation of seeing Mrs. Weldon again, without even knowing that their companion in misery was in Kazounde, in Alvez’s establishment.  They had departed for the lake country, a journey figured by hundreds of miles, that very few accomplish, and from which very few return.

“Well?” murmured Mrs. Weldon, looking at Negoro without answering.

“Mrs. Weldon,” returned the Portuguese, in an abrupt voice, “I could revenge myself on you for the bad treatment I suffered on board the ‘Pilgrim.’  But Dick Sand’s death will satisfy my vengeance.  Now, mistress, I become the merchant again, and behold my projects with regard to you.”

Mrs. Weldon looked at him without saying a word.

“You,” continued the Portuguese, “your child, and that imbecile who runs after the flies, you have a commercial value which I intend to utilize.  So I am going to sell you.”