“The man—­a yellow-faced fellow, but young in figure—­muttered something in a gibberish new to me, and made as if excusing himself.  It gave me an ugly start to see that his eyes were yellow too, with long slits for pupils; but I saw too that he was afraid of me, and being in a towering rage myself, I out with my kris.

“‘Now look here,’ I said; ’I don’t understand what you say, but maybe you understand this.  Walk!  And if I catch you here again, you’ll need someone to sew you up.’

“I watched him as he went across the compound.  The guard at the gate scarcely looked up, and if the thing hadn’t been impossible, there, in the broad daylight, I could have fancied he saw no one.  I turned to Aoodya and took her hands, for she was trembling from head to foot.  At my touch she burst out sobbing, clung to my shoulder and begged me to protect her.

“‘Why, of course I will,’ said I, more cheerfully than I felt by a long sight.  ’If I’d known you were frightened like this, I’d have slit his body to match his eyes.  But who is he, at all?’

“‘He—­he said he was my brother!’ she wailed, and clung to me again.  ‘I cannot—­I cannot!’

“‘I’ll brother him!’ cried I.  ‘But what is it he wants?’

“‘I cannot—­I cannot!’ was all she would say; and now her sobs were so loud that the child woke up screaming and had to be soothed.  And this seemed to do her good.

“Well, I got her to bed and asleep early that night; but before morning I had a worse fright than ever.  Somehow in my dream I had a feeling come to me that the bed was empty, and sat up suddenly, half awake and scared.  Aoodya had risen and was standing by the cradle, with one hand on its edge; in the other was the lamp—­a clam-shell fastened in a split handle of bamboo, and holding a pith wick and a little oil.  The flame wavered against her eyes as she held it up and peered into the baby’s face—­and her eyes were like as I had seen them once before, and devilish like the eyes I had seen in another face that afternoon.

“A man never knows what he can do till the call comes.  There, betwixt sleep and waking, I knew that happiness had come to an end for us.  Yet I slipped out of bed very softly, took the lamp from her as gentle as you please, set it on a stool and, turning, reached out for her two wrists and held them—­for how long I can’t tell you.  She didn’t try to fend me away, or struggle at all, and not a word did I utter, but stood holding her—­the babe asleep beside us—­and listened to her breathing until it grew easier, and she leaned to me, weak as water.

“Then I let go, and lifting the child’s head from the pillow pulled Aoodya’s charm, the cocoanut pearl, from my neck and hung it about his.  ‘That’s for you, sonny,’ said I, ’and if the Berbalangs come along you can pass them on to your father.’  I faced round on Aoodya with a smile which no doubt was thin enough, though honestly meant to hearten her.  ‘It’s all right, old girl.  Come back to bed,’ said I, and held her in my arms until I fell asleep in the dawn.