But Verkimier’s anticipations in regard to that paradise were not to be realised.  The evil passions of a wicked man, with whom he had personally nothing whatever to do, interfered with his plans.  In the middle of the night a native Malay youth named Babu arrived at the village and demanded an interview with the chief.  That worthy, after the interview, conducted the youth to the hut where his visitors lived, and, rousing Van der Kemp without disturbing the others, bade him listen to what the young man had to say.  An expression of great anxiety overspread the hermit’s usually placid countenance while Babu was speaking.

“It is fate!” he murmured, as if communing with himself—­then, after a pause—­“no, there is no such thing as fate.  It is, it must be, the will of God.  Go, young man, mention this to no one.  I thank you for the kindness which made you take so long a journey for my sake.”

“It is not kindness, it is love that makes me serve you,” returned the lad earnestly.  “Every one loves you, Van der Kemp, because that curse of mankind, revenge, has no place in your breast.”

“Strange! how little man does know or guess the secret thoughts of his fellow!” said the hermit with one of his pitiful smiles. “Revenge no place in me!—­but I thank you, boy, for the kind thought as well as the effort to save me.  My life is not worth much to any one.  It will not matter, I think, if my enemy should succeed.  Go now, Babu, and God be with you!”

“He will surely succeed if you do not leave this place at once,” rejoined the youth, in a tone of decision.  “Baderoon is furious at all times.  He is worse than ever just now, because you have thwarted his plans—­so it is said—­very often.  If he knew that I am now thwarting them also, he would hunt me to death.  I will not leave you till you are safe beyond his reach.”

The hermit looked at the lad with kindly surprise.

“How comes it,” he said, “that you are so much interested in me?  I remember seeing you two years ago, but have no recollection of having done you any service.”

“Do you not remember that my mother was ill when you spent a night in our hut, and my little sister was dying?  You nursed her, and tried your best to save her, and when you could not save her, and she died, you wept as if the child had been your own.  I do not forget that, Van der Kemp.  Sympathy is of more value than service.”

“Strangely mistaken again!” murmured the hermit.  “Who can know the workings of the human mind!  Self was mixed with my feelings—­profoundly—­yet my sympathy with you and your mother was sincere.”

“We never doubted that,” returned Babu with a touch of surprise in his tone.

“Well now, what do you propose to do, as you refuse to leave me?” asked the hermit with some curiosity.

“I will go on with you to the next village.  It is a large one.  The chief man there is my uncle, who will aid me, I know, in any way I wish.  I will tell him what I know and have heard of the pirate’s intention, of which I have proof.  He will order Baderoon to be arrested on suspicion when he arrives.  Then we will detain him till you are beyond his reach.  That is not unjust.”