The foreigner was proud and wouldn’t beg, but I thought he looked as if he would like to. While he stood gazing at Satan we vanished away and landed in Ceylon. I was sorry for that man; sorry Satan hadn’t been his customary self and killed him or made him a lunatic. It would have been a mercy. Satan overheard the thought, and said: “I would have done it but for his wife, who has not offended me. She is coming to him presently from their native land, Portugal. She is well, but has not long to live, and has been yearning to see him and persuade him to go back with her next year. She will die without knowing he can’t leave that place?” “He won’t tell her?” “He? He will not trust that secret with any one; he will reflect that it could be revealed in sleep, in the hearing of some Portuguese guest’s servant some time or other.” “Did none of those natives understand what you said to him?” “None of them understood, but he will always be afraid that some of them did. That fear will be torture to him, for he has been a harsh master to them. In his dreams he will imagine them chopping his tree down. That will make his days uncomfortable--I have already arranged for his nights.” It grieved me, though not sharply, to see him take such a malicious satisfaction in his plans for this foreigner. “Does he believe what you told him, Satan?” “He thought he didn’t, but our vanishing helped. The tree, where there had been no tree before--that helped. The insane and uncanny variety of fruits--the sudden withering--all these things are helps. Let him think as he may, reason as he may, one thing is certain, he will water the tree. But between this and night he will begin his changed career with a very natural precaution--for him.” “What is that?” “He will fetch a priest to cast out the tree’s devil. You are such a humorous race--and don’t suspect it.” “Will he tell the priest?” “No. He will say a juggler from Bombay created it, and that he wants the juggler’s devil driven out of it, so that it will thrive and be fruitful again. The priest’s incantations will fail; then the Portuguese will give up that scheme and get his watering-pot ready.” “But the priest will burn the tree. I know it; he will not allow it to remain.” “Yes, and anywhere in Europe he would burn the man, too. But in India the people are civilized, and these things will not happen. The man will drive the priest away and take care of the tree.” I reflected a little, then said, “Satan, you have given him a hard life, I think.” “Comparatively. It must not be mistaken for a holiday.” We flitted from place to place around the world as we had done before, Satan showing me a hundred wonders, most of them reflecting in some way the weakness and triviality of our race. He did this now every few days--not out of malice--I am sure of that--it only seemed to amuse and interest him, just as a naturalist might be amused and interested by a collection of ants. CHAPTER XI