Hatteras looked at his companion for an instant.  Then he emptied deliberately both cups over the side of the boat.  Next he took the pipe from his lips.  The tobacco was not half consumed.  He poised the pipe for a little in his hand.  Then he blew into the bowl and watched the dull red glow kindle into sparks of flame as he blew.  Very slowly he tapped the bowl against the thwart of the boat until the burning tobacco fell with a hiss into the water.  He laid the pipe gently down and stood up.

“So long, old man,” he said, and sprang out on to the clay.  Walker turned the lantern until the light made a disc upon the bank.

“Good bye, Jim,” said Hatteras, and he climbed up the bank until he stood in the light of the lantern.  Twice Walker raised the rifle to his shoulder, twice he lowered it.  Then he remembered that Hatteras and he had been at school together.

“Good bye, Dicky,” he cried, and fired.  Hatteras tumbled down to the boat-side.  The blacks down-river were roused by the shot.  Walker shouted to them to stay where they were, and as soon as their camp was quiet he stepped on shore.  He filled up the whiskey jar with water, tied it to Hatteras’ feet, shook his hand, and pushed the body into the river.  The next morning he started back to Fernan Vaz.

THE PRINCESS JOCELIANDE.

The truth concerning the downfall of the Princess Joceliande has never as yet been honestly inscribed.  Doubtless there be few alive except myself that know it; for from the beginning many strange and insidious rumours were set about to account for her mishap, whereby great damage was done to the memory of the Sieur Rudel le Malaise and Solita his wife; and afterwards these rumours were so embroidered and painted by rhymesters that the truth has become, as you might say, doubly lost.  For minstrels take more thought of tickling the fancies of those to whom they sing with joyous and gallant histories than of their high craft and office, and hence it is that though many and various accounts are told to this day throughout the country-side by grandsires at their winter hearths, not one of them has so much as a grain of verity.  They are but rude and homely versions of the chaunts of Troubadours.

And yet the truth is sweet and pitiful enough to furnish forth a song, were our bards so minded.  Howbeit, I will set it down here in simple prose; for so my duty to the Sieur Rudel bids me, and, moreover, ’twas from this event his wanderings began wherein for twenty years I bare him company.

And let none gainsay my story, for that I was not my master’s servant at the time, and saw not the truth with mine own eyes.  I had it from the Sieur Rudel’s lips, and more than once when he was vexed at the aspersions thrown upon his name.  But he was ever proud, as befitted so knightly a gentleman, and deigned not to argue or plead his honour to the world, but only with his sword.  Thus, then, it falls to me to right him as skilfully as I may.  Though, alas!  I fear my skill is little worth, and calumnies are ever fresh to the palate, while truth needs the sauce of a bright fancy to command it.