He smiled, a brief smile of friendship. "That would do first-rate," he explained; "only, you see, there's no Kafirs, kiddy. Every nigger that had ever seen a boat was snapped up a week ago, when the big flit was happening. That dead-scared crowd that cleared out then took every single sailorman to ferry 'em down the coast--white, black, and piebald. And the plain truth of it is, 'Carnacion, I've been up and down this old rabbit-warren of a city since sun-down, looking for a sailor, an' the only one I could hear of I found--in the dead-house." He spat at the parapet upon the memory of that face, where the plague had done its worst. "So," remarked Incarnacion gaily. "Then we stop, Jock; we stop here, eh?" "There'll be something broken first," retorted Scott. "It's all bloomin' rot, Incarnacion; you can't have a town this size without a man in it that can handle a boat--a seaport, too. It isn't sense. It don't stand to reason." "There was the Capitan Smeeth," suggested Incarnacion helpfully. "Just so," said Scott; "there was. He's dead." Incarnacion crossed herself in silence, and they sat for a while without speaking. From the Praca the music was still to be heard; some procession to the great church was in progress, to pray for a remission of the scourge. Over the line of roofs there was a dull glow of the watch-fires in the streets; where they sat, Scott and the girl could smell the pitch that fed them. And, over all, an unseen sick man gabbled his prayers in a halting monotone. A quick heat of wrath lit in Scott as his thoughts traveled around the situation; for Incarnacion sat with her head bowed, playing with her toes, and the ever-ready terror lest the plague should reach her moved in his heart. He had been away from Superban when the plague arrived, and though he had come in on the first word of the news, he had been too late to find a place for her on the ships that fled down the coast from the pest. And now that he had found a boat, there was no one to sail her; in all that terror-ridden city, he could find no man to hold the tiller and tend the sheet. "You're feeling all right, eh, 'Carnacion?" he asked sharply. She turned to him, smiling at once. "All right," she assured him. "An' you, Jock--you all right, too?" "Fit as can be," he answered, fingering her hair where it was smooth and short behind her ear. "You see," she said. "It is the plague, but the plague don't come for us, Jock." "That's right," he said. "You keep your courage up, little girl, an' we'll be married in Delagoa Bay." He rose to his feet. "Kiss me good night, 'Carnacion," he said. "I'm busy these days, an' I can't stop any longer." She kissed him obediently, giving her fresh lips frankly and eagerly; and Scott came out to the narrow lane below with the flavor of them yet on his mouth and new resolution to pursue his quest for a sailor.