|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmduh
 

ly
occupied by the savages.
Lingard and the young leader of the Wajo traders met in the
splendid light of noonday, and amidst the attentive silence of
their followers, on the very spot where the Malay seaman had lost
his life. Lingard, striding up from one side, thrust out his open
palm; Hassim responded at once to the frank gesture and they
exchanged their first hand-clasp over the prostrate body, as if
fate had already exacted the price of a death for the most
ominous of her gifts--the gift of friendship that sometimes
contains the whole good or evil of a life.
"I'll never forget this day," cried Lingard in a hearty tone; and
the other smiled quietly.
Then after a short pause--"Will you burn the village for
vengeance?" asked the Malay with a quick glance down at the dead
Lascar who, on his face and with stretched arms, seemed to cling
desperately to that earth of which he had known so little.
Lingard hesitated.
"No," he said, at last. "It would do good to no one."
"True," said Hassim, gently, "but was this man your debtor--a
slave?"
"Slave?" cried Lingard. "This is an English brig. Slave? No. A
free man like myself."
"Hai. He is indeed free now," muttered the Malay with another
glance downward. "But who will pay the bereaveyilai：
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmepq