He was near the gate where two spearmen stood, and in the full starlight he saw a Malay woman coming up, and as she drew near, she raised her hands beneath the veil-like sarong she wore over her head to a level with her brows, spreading out the plaided silk after the custom of the women, so that the top and bottom hems were drawn parallel, covering her face and forming a narrow horizontal slit through which her eyes alone were seen.
“Yah! Get out. How modest we are. Sure, and ye’re an ugly flat-nosed coffee-coloured one, or ye wouldn’t be so moighty particular. Want to see one of the women folk, do ye? Well, the gyards’ll shtop ye, and send ye about yer bishness, and good-luck to ye.”
But the guards did not stop her as she walked quietly up. A woman coming to the doctor’s house, that was all; and she passed between them with her face covered, and turned off into the narrow path among the trees leading to the servants’ quarters, the men just glancing after her, and then chewing away at their betel.
The consequence was that the next minute the woman was face to face with Tim, who blocked the way in a surly fashion; and as they stood there in the shadowy path, Tim’s pipe bowl glowed, and the eyes seen through the narrow slit gleamed.
“And what do you want?” said Tim, in the Malay tongue.
“Muhdra,” was the reply, in a faint voice.
“She’s yonder,” said Tim. “I daresay you know the way.”
“Show me,” said the woman softly.
“Oh, bad luck to ye to want to come chattering haythen nonsense to the cook, wid all this trouble on the way,” he said angrily, in his own tongue. Then more civilly in Malay, “Come along, then.”
He led the way, and the woman followed till they had passed another sentry, when he felt his arm gripped.