“Yes. Still waters run deep.”
“But—”
“Hush, man! Keep that in your breast. I know, and I am certain. He is our friend, but is compelled to act as he does. You saw just now—you heard his words—so did the Malays by the door, and every sentence will be reported to the rajah,” said Mr Braine.
“Yes.”
“If the tyrant dreamed that his officer was friendly toward us to the extent of trying to give us help, he would be marched to the river-bank at sunrise; there would be another execution, and the world would hold one honest man the less. Now, drink your coffee, and lie back and sleep.”
“I cannot.”
“You must. We can do nothing but wait the turn of affairs, and the more coolly we take these matters, the better able we shall be to act. Now try and rest.”
Murray shook his head, and sat wondering how a man whose son had been suddenly snatched from him could drop into a calm and restful sleep. Then he wondered how Amy and the ladies were, and then he ceased wondering, for when the sun rose above the river mist and the tops of the jungle trees, it shone in between the mats hanging over the doorway, lighting up the Resident’s room, and the divan where Murray lay back utterly exhausted, and now fast asleep.