The launch pulled up against the lorcha, and Huntington sprang aboard. Burke rose from the deck and waited for him. He was hollow and drooping, as if the bony frame had been removed from his body, and his eyes were dead. A look told the doctor what had happened. "Yes," said Burke, corroborating the surgeon's unexpressed thought. Huntington paced the deck. "Well," he said, finally, "you did well to stand it that long. Next time it will be longer." Burke did not answer. "We have to begin again." "Begin again," echoed Burke, mechanically. "You'll do it, old man," said Huntington, confidently. "My God, Huntington," said Burke, in a whisper; "my God, Huntington, I killed Tionko; I threw him to the sharks, and now, look at me!" When the launch had left, Burke crouched down in a corner against the bulwarks, and there he sat the morning long, his eyes glued stupidly to the deck. At noon he suddenly got up, walked firmly to the mainmast, and ran up the yellow flag. When the boat came he went down the ladder and sat himself in the sternsheets. The man in charge looked at him inquiringly. "Pull away," he said, shortly; "I've got it." VI SOME BENEVOLENT ASSIMILATION That by teaching the Filipinos the American branch of the English language it was expected to transfuse into them the customs, ideas, and ideals of the speakers of that tongue, the Maestro vaguely knew. But that this method would meet with the vigorous and somewhat eccentric success that it did in Señorita Constancia de la Rama, the Visayan young lady whom he had trained to take charge of his girls' school, he had not dreamed. So, taken unaware by the news, he flopped down on a chair with a low whistle that finished off into something like a groan as the situation presented itself to him in its full beauty. And then, taken by that perverse desire which, in time of catastrophe, impels us to rehearse all of the elements that go to make our woe particularly unbearable, he began to question the urchin who had brought the note from Mauro Ledesma, one of the native assistant teachers of the boys' school. "Señor Ledesma gave you that note, Isidro?" "Yes, Señor Pablo, the little Filipino maestro gave it to me," answered Isidro, careful in his discrimination of masters. "Where was he; in the house?" "Oh, yes, Señor Pablo, he was in the house--he was altogether inside of the house!" The Maestro eyed the boy with sudden suspicion. He thought that he had detected a joyous note in the statement of the native teacher's whereabouts. But Isidro's return glance was liquid with innocence. "And he called you?" went on the Maestro. "Oh, no, Señor Pablo, he did not call me! Ambrosio, his muchacho, called me! Señor Ledesma, he stayed inside!" Again the Maestro started, for Isidro's sentence formation seemed suspiciously appreciative. But the little face he searched was wooden. "He called you from the door?"