were to transfer their residence to their new quarters.

Late Sunday afternoon a small native boat was seen

rounding the point at the harbor's southern extremity,

and after a few minutes it drew alongside the Ithaca.

There were but three men in it--two Dyaks and a Malay.

The latter was a tall, well built man of middle age,

of a sullen and degraded countenance. His garmenture

was that of the ordinary Malay boatman, but there was

that in his mien and his attitude toward his companions

which belied his lowly habiliments.

In answer to von Horn's hail the man asked if he might

come aboard and trade; but once on the deck it developed

that he had not brought nothing wherewith to trade.

He seemed not the slightest disconcerted by this discovery,

stating that he would bring such articles as they wished

when he had learned what their requirements were.

The ubiquitous Sing was on hand during the interview,

but from his expressionless face none might guess what

was passing through the tortuous channels of his

Oriental mind. The Malay had been aboard nearly half

an hour talking with von Horn when the mate, Bududreen,

came on deck, and it was Sing alone who noted the

quickly concealed flash of recognition which passed

between the two Malays.

The Chinaman also saw the gleam that shot into the

visitor's eye as Virginia emerged from the cabin,

but by no word or voluntary outward sign did the man

indicate that he had even noticed her. Shortly afterward

he left, promising to return with provisions the following day.

But it was to be months before they again saw him.

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