"There is a very great flood," remarked Babalatchi, sadly.

"Yes," said Lakamba. "Did Dain go?"

"He went, Tuan. He ran down to the river like a man possessed of the
Sheitan himself."

There was another long pause.

"He may get drowned," suggested Lakamba at last, with some show of
interest.

"The floating logs are many," answered Babalatchi, "but he is a good
swimmer," he added languidly.

"He ought to live," said Lakamba; "he knows where the treasure is."

Babalatchi assented with an ill-humoured grunt. His want of success in
penetrating the white man's secret as to the locality where the gold was
to be found was a sore point with the statesman of Sambir, as the only
conspicuous failure in an otherwise brilliant career.

A great peace had now succeeded the turmoil of the storm. Only the
little belated clouds, which hurried past overhead to catch up the main
body flashing silently in the distance, sent down short showers that
pattered softly with a soothing hiss over the palm-leaf roof.

Lakamba roused himself from his apathy with an appearance of having
grasped the situation at last.