In a few moments a man emerged from a shed of banana-leaves. He was a scraggy man--very lightly clad--and a violent squint handicapped him seriously in the matter of first impressions. When he saw Jocelyn he dropped his burden of wood and ran towards her. The African negro does not cringe. He is a proud man in his way. If he is properly handled, he is not only trustworthy--he is something stronger. Nala grinned as he ran towards Jocelyn. “Nala,” she said, “will you go a journey for me?” “I will go at once.” “I came to you,” said Jocelyn, “because I know that you are an intelligent man and a great traveller.” “I have travelled much,” he answered, “when I was younger.” “Before you were married?” said the English girl. “Before little Nala came?” The man grinned. He looked back over his shoulder towards one of the huts, where a scraggy infant with a violent squint lay on its diaphragm on the sand. “Where do you wish me to go?” asked the proud father. “To Msala on the Ogowe river.” “I know the Ogowe. I have been at Msala,” with the grave nod of a great traveller. “When can you leave?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Now.” Jocelyn had her purse in her hand. “You can hire a dhow,” she said; “and on the river you may have as many rowers as you like. You must go very quickly to Msala. There you must ask about the Englishman's Expedition. You have heard of it?” “Yes: the Englishman, Durnovo, and the soldier who laughs.” “Yes. Some of the men are at Msala now. They were going up-country to join the other Englishman far away--near the mountains. They have stopped at Msala. Find out why they have not gone on, and come back very quickly to tell me. You understand, Nala?” “Yes.” “And I can trust you?” “Yes: because you cured the little one when he had an evil spirit. Yes, you can trust me.” She gave him money and rode on home. Before she reached the bungalow the paddle-maker passed her at a trot, going towards the sea. She waited for three days, and then Victor Durnovo came again. Maurice was still away. There was an awful sense of impending danger in the very air in the loneliness of her position. Yet she was not afraid of Durnovo. She had left that fear behind. She went to the drawing-room to see him, full of resolution. “I could not go away,” he said, after relinquishing her hand, “without coming to see you.” Jocelyn said nothing. The scared look which she had last seen in his face was no longer there; but the eyes were full of lies. “Jocelyn,” the man went on, “I suppose you know that I love you? It must have been plain to you for a long time.” “No,” she answered, with a little catch in her breath. “No, it has not. And I am sorry to hear it now.” “Why?” he asked, with a dull gleam which could not be dignified by the name of love. “Because it can only lead to trouble.”