Our hosts escorted us back to Mr. Douglas’s bungalow. I led the way, hand in hand with the chief, and Bertram followed, hand in hand with the chief’s son, who kept assuring Bertram that he felt very happy, because they had become brothers, for was not Rajah Ranee, his mother, walking home hand in hand with his father, and as he was doing the same with her son, that quite settled the relationship. The orchestra followed us the whole way home, and the people sang choruses to impromptu words, composed in our honour by the poet of the tribe. The chief told me the song was “manah” (beautiful), as its words were in honour of Bertram and me. A recent shower had left the night fine and the air cool, as we went through avenues of betel-nut palms and over carpets of lemon grass, whose long spikes beaten over the path by the rain gave a delightful fragrance crushed by so many feet. We crossed a little bridge over a bubbling stream, and passed by Chinese houses, whose inhabitants opened their windows to look at our midnight procession. When we reached the bungalow, the arbor tristis or night-flowering jasmine was in bloom all over the garden, and white moon-flower bells hung wide open over the verandah. Half an hour later, as I leaned out of the window of my bedroom, I could still hear the people singing on their way back to the village. The trees in the garden were full of fireflies looking like stars entangled in the branches. We left Lundu the next day with regret. We were sorry to say good-bye to our kind host, Mr. Douglas, and to the Dyaks of the place, and as we steamed away I felt almost inclined to cry. Although I may be accused of being unduly emotional, I am not ashamed to own that after a visit in any of the Sarawak settlements I always left a piece of my heart behind. FOOTNOTES: [11] This tree, which no one could tell me the name of at the time, was the only one of its kind I had seen; therefore, it was not strange I formed the idea it might be unknown to science. Its leafy image persisted in my mind, and the thought of it haunted me. I have now been informed that it is not unknown, and is a creeper, called Bauhinea, and not a tree at all. Seen at a distance, its appearance is like that of a tree in blossom, for it completely covers--and perhaps smothers-- the tree upon which it fastens itself. CHAPTER XXIII