then had candles brought into the Court-house.  He seemed indeed not so much to be investigating the negro’s guilt as to be adding to his own knowledge of Fetish ceremonials.  And Walker could not but perceive that he took more than a merely scientific pleasure in the increase of his knowledge.  His face appeared to smooth out, his eyes became quick, interested, almost excited; and Walker again had the queer impression that Hatteras was in spirit participating in the loathsome ceremonies, and participating with an intense enjoyment.  In the end the negro was convicted and the Court rose.  But he might have been convicted a good three hours before.  Walker went home shaking his head.  He seemed to be watching a man deliberately divesting himself of his humanity.  It seemed as though the white man were ambitious to decline into the black.  Hatteras was growing into an uncanny creature.  His friend began to foresee a time when he should hold him in loathing and horror.  And the next morning helped to confirm him in that forecast.

For Walker had to make an early start down river for Bonny town, and as he stood on the landing-stage Hatteras came down to him from the Residency.

“You heard that negro tried yesterday?” he asked with an assumption of carelessness.

“Yes, and condemned.  What of him?”

“He escaped last night.  It’s a bad business, isn’t it?”

Walker nodded in reply and his boat pushed off.  But it stuck in his mind for the greater part of that day that the prison adjoined the Court-house and so formed part of the ground floor of the Residency.  Had Hatteras connived at his escape?  Had the judge secretly set free the prisoner whom he had publicly condemned?  The question troubled Walker considerably during his month of absence, and stood in the way of his business.  He learned for the first time how much he loved his friend and how eagerly he watched for the friend’s advancement.  Each day added to his load of anxiety.  He dreamed continually of a black-painted man slipping among the tree-boles nearer and nearer towards the red glow of a fire in some open space secure amongst the swamps, where hideous mysteries had their celebration.  He cut short his business and hurried back from Bonny.  He crossed at once to the Residency and found his friend in a great turmoil of affairs.  Walker came back from Bonny a month later and hurried across to his friend.

“Jim,” said Hatteras, starting up, “I’ve got a year’s leave; I am going home.”

“Dicky!” cried Walker, and he nearly wrung Hatteras’ hand from his arm.  “That’s grand news.”

“Yes, old man, I thought you would be glad; I sail in a fortnight.”  And he did.