full length on the mats to be nearer the speaker. One of them got up and
now stood leaning against the arm-rack, playing absently with the fringes
of his sword-hilt.

Dain waited till the crash of thunder had died away in distant mutterings
before he spoke again.

"Are you dumb, O ruler of Sambir, or is the son of a great Rajah unworthy
of your notice? I am come here to seek refuge and to warn you, and want
to know what you intend doing."

"You came here because of the white man's daughter," retorted Lakamba,
quickly. "Your refuge was with your father, the Rajah of Bali, the Son
of Heaven, the 'Anak Agong' himself. What am I to protect great princes?
Only yesterday I planted rice in a burnt clearing; to-day you say I hold
your life in my hand."

Babalatchi glanced at his master. "No man can escape his fate," he
murmured piously. "When love enters a man's heart he is like a
child--without any understanding. Be merciful, Lakamba," he added,
twitching the corner of the Rajah's sarong warningly.

Lakamba snatched away the skirt of the sarong angrily. Under the dawning
comprehension of intolerable embarrassments caused by Dain's return to
Sambir he began to lose such composure as he had been, till then, able to
maintain; and now he raised his voice loudly above the whistling of the
wind and the patter of rain on the roof in the hard squall passing over
the house.

"You came here first as a trader with sweet words and great promises,