“But,” cried Mr Braine, eagerly, “the rajah?”
“I am the Rajah of Dah now,” said the Malay chief with a touch of hauteur in his tones. “Are you surprised?”
“No,” said Mr Braine, warmly. “Thank God! I knew that some day it must come.”
“When the fruit was dead ripe, it would fall,” said the new rajah, solemnly.
“And Sadi?”
“The tyrant, the robber and oppressor of all who ascended and descended this river, is dead, sir, and with your help, I hope that a new period of peace will open on the land. The time was ripe at last, and I sent to my ally here, Rajah Alleen.”
This chief rose and was presented to all in turn, bowing with Eastern dignity, and the scene would have been impressive but for the Malay’s vanity. The gorgeous military uniform of his enemy had excited his cupidity ever since reports had reached him of its splendour, and the minute he had made an almost bloodless seizure of the campong, he had claimed it as his spoil, received it readily from his friend the ex-Tumongong, and arrayed himself in it ready for the return of the English people, whom he wished to impress.
He succeeded far above his expectations, for that night, when back at his old home, Frank said merrily:
“Why, it don’t fit him half so well as it did poor old Sadi.”
“No,” assented Ned. “But—dead! how horrible!”