“She commands a spirit, too--the spirit of her nation; a masterful, conscientious, unscrupulous, unconquerable devil . . . that does a lot of good--incidentally . . . a lot of good . . . at times--and wouldn’t stand any fuss from the best ghost out for such a little thing as our friend’s shot. Don’t look thunderstruck, you fellows. Help me to make him believe--everything’s in that.” “His people will be shocked,” I murmured. Hollis looked fixedly at Karain, who was the incarnation of the very essence of still excitement. He stood rigid, with head thrown back; his eyes rolled wildly, flashing; the dilated nostrils quivered. “Hang it all!” said Hollis at last, “he is a good fellow. I’ll give him something that I shall really miss.” He took the ribbon out of the box, smiled at it scornfully, then with a pair of scissors cut out a piece from the palm of the glove. “I shall make him a thing like those Italian peasants wear, you know.” He sewed the coin in the delicate leather, sewed the leather to the ribbon, tied the ends together. He worked with haste. Karain watched his fingers all the time. “Now then,” he said--then stepped up to Karain. They looked close into one another’s eyes. Those of Karain stared in a lost glance, but Hollis’s seemed to grow darker and looked out masterful and compelling. They were in violent contrast together--one motionless and the colour of bronze, the other dazzling white and lifting his arms, where the powerful muscles rolled slightly under a skin that gleamed like satin. Jackson moved near with the air of a man closing up to a chum in a tight place. I said impressively, pointing to Hollis-- “He is young, but he is wise. Believe him!” Karain bent his head: Hollis threw lightly over it the dark-blue ribbon and stepped back. “Forget, and be at peace!” I cried. Karain seemed to wake up from a dream. He said, “Ha!” shook himself as if throwing off a burden. He looked round with assurance. Someone on deck dragged off the skylight cover, and a flood of light fell into the cabin. It was morning already. “Time to go on deck,” said Jackson. Hollis put on a coat, and we went up, Karain leading. The sun had risen beyond the hills, and their long shadows stretched far over the bay in the pearly light. The air was clear, stainless, and cool. I pointed at the curved line of yellow sands. “He is not there,” I said, emphatically, to Karain. “He waits no more. He has departed forever.” A shaft of bright hot rays darted into the bay between the summits of two hills, and the water all round broke out as if by magic into a dazzling sparkle. “No! He is not there waiting,” said Karain, after a long look over the beach. “I do not hear him,” he went on, slowly. “No!” He turned to us. “He has departed again--forever!” he cried.