“He never said so to me,” I replied, mildly.
“That’s no odds; he said so to me, and he told me if you made any row to tell you that you were watched, and might just as well give up at once.”
“Watched!” said I, wonderingly.
“Yes—for fear you’d get skittish, and try and do something foolish. Old Potts is bound to keep you under his thumb.”
I turned away. I did not care much. I felt more surprise than any thing else to think that he would take the trouble to watch me. Whether he did or not was of little consequence. If I could only be where I had the sea before me it was enough.
That day, on going back to the Hall, I saw John sitting on the piazza. A huge bull-dog which he used to take with him every where was lying at his feet. Just before I reached the steps a Malay servant came out of the house.
He was about the same age as John. I knew him to be a Malay when I first saw him, and concluded that my father had picked him up in the East. He was slight but very lithe and muscular, with dark glittering eyes and glistening white teeth. He never looked at me when I met him, but always at the ground, without seeming to be aware of my existence.
The Malay was passing out when John called out to him,
“Hi, there, Vijal!”
Vijal looked carelessly at him.