The sun setting to seaward shot its last rays between the headlands, when the body of the killed Lascar, wrapped up decently in a white sheet, according to Mohammedan usage, was lowered gently below the still waters of the bay upon which his curious glances, only a few hours before, had rested for the first time.  At the moment the dead man, released from slip-ropes, disappeared without a ripple before the eyes of his shipmates, the bright flash and the heavy report of the brig’s bow gun were succeeded by the muttering echoes of the encircling shores and by the loud cries of sea birds that, wheeling in clouds, seemed to scream after the departing seaman a wild and eternal good-bye.  The master of the brig, making his way aft with hanging head, was followed by low murmurs of pleased surprise from his crew as well as from the strangers who crowded the main deck.  In such acts performed simply, from conviction, what may be called the romantic side of the man’s nature came out; that responsive sensitiveness to the shadowy appeals made by life and death, which is the groundwork of a chivalrous character.

Lingard entertained his three visitors far into the night.  A sheep from the brig’s sea stock was given to the men of the prau, while in the cabin, Hassim and his two friends, sitting in a row on the stern settee, looked very splendid with costly metals and flawed jewels.  The talk conducted with hearty friendship on Lingard’s part, and on the part of the Malays with the well-bred air of discreet courtesy, which is natural to the better class of that people, touched upon many subjects and, in the end, drifted to politics.

“It is in my mind that you are a powerful man in your own country,” said Hassim, with a circular glance at the cuddy.

“My country is upon a far-away sea where the light breezes are as strong as the winds of the rainy weather here,” said Lingard; and there were low exclamations of wonder.  “I left it very young, and I don’t know about my power there where great men alone are as numerous as the poor people in all your islands, Tuan Hassim.  But here,” he continued, “here, which is also my country—­being an English craft and worthy of it, too—­I am powerful enough.  In fact, I am Rajah here.  This bit of my country is all my own.”

The visitors were impressed, exchanged meaning glances, nodded at each other.

“Good, good,” said Hassim at last, with a smile.  “You carry your country and your power with you over the sea.  A Rajah upon the sea.  Good!”

Lingard laughed thunderously while the others looked amused.

“Your country is very powerful—­we know,” began again Hassim after a pause, “but is it stronger than the country of the Dutch who steal our land?”

“Stronger?” cried Lingard.  He opened a broad palm.  “Stronger?  We could take them in our hand like this—­” and he closed his fingers triumphantly.

“And do you make them pay tribute for their land?” enquired Hassim with eagerness.