‘"Tuan?” said Tamb’ Itam, advancing with alacrity.  He did not know what his master meant, but as soon as Jim made a movement the girl started too and walked down into the open space.  It seems that no one else of the people of the house was in sight.  She tottered slightly, and about half-way down called out to Jim, who had apparently resumed his peaceful contemplation of the river.  He turned round, setting his back against the gun.  “Will you fight?” she cried.  “There is nothing to fight for,” he said; “nothing is lost.”  Saying this he made a step towards her.  “Will you fly?” she cried again.  “There is no escape,” he said, stopping short, and she stood still also, silent, devouring him with her eyes.  “And you shall go?” she said slowly.  He bent his head.  “Ah!” she exclaimed, peering at him as it were, “you are mad or false.  Do you remember the night I prayed you to leave me, and you said that you could not?  That it was impossible!  Impossible!  Do you remember you said you would never leave me?  Why?  I asked you for no promise.  You promised unasked—­remember.”  “Enough, poor girl,” he said.  “I should not be worth having.”

‘Tamb’ Itam said that while they were talking she would laugh loud and senselessly like one under the visitation of God.  His master put his hands to his head.  He was fully dressed as for every day, but without a hat.  She stopped laughing suddenly.  “For the last time,” she cried menacingly, “will you defend yourself?” “Nothing can touch me,” he said in a last flicker of superb egoism.  Tamb’ Itam saw her lean forward where she stood, open her arms, and run at him swiftly.  She flung herself upon his breast and clasped him round the neck.

’"Ah! but I shall hold thee thus,” she cried. . . .  “Thou art mine!”

’She sobbed on his shoulder.  The sky over Patusan was blood-red, immense, streaming like an open vein.  An enormous sun nestled crimson amongst the tree-tops, and the forest below had a black and forbidding face.

‘Tamb’ Itam tells me that on that evening the aspect of the heavens was angry and frightful.  I may well believe it, for I know that on that very day a cyclone passed within sixty miles of the coast, though there was hardly more than a languid stir of air in the place.

‘Suddenly Tamb’ Itam saw Jim catch her arms, trying to unclasp her hands.  She hung on them with her head fallen back; her hair touched the ground.  “Come here!” his master called, and Tamb’ Itam helped to ease her down.  It was difficult to separate her fingers.  Jim, bending over her, looked earnestly upon her face, and all at once ran to the landing-stage.  Tamb’ Itam followed him, but turning his head, he saw that she had struggled up to her feet.  She ran after them a few steps, then fell down heavily on her knees.  “Tuan!  Tuan!” called Tamb’ Itam, “look back;” but Jim was already in a canoe, standing up paddle in hand.  He did not look back.  Tamb’ Itam had just time to scramble in after him when the canoe floated clear.  The girl was then on her knees, with clasped hands, at the water-gate.  She remained thus for a time in a supplicating attitude before she sprang up.  “You are false!” she screamed out after Jim.  “Forgive me,” he cried.  “Never!  Never!” she called back.