“Nay,” she said presently, in answer to something he had said, “no love have I for Jinaban; 'tis hate alone that hath led me to aid him, for he hath sworn to me that I shall yet see Letanë lie dead before me. And for that do I steal forth at night and take him food.”
“Dost thou then love Parma?”
“As much as thou lovest his wife,” the girl answered quickly, striking him petulantly on his knee.
The half-caste laughed. “Those were but the words of a man drunken with liquor. What care I for her? Thee alone do I love, for thy eyes have eaten up my heart. And see, when thou hast taken me to Jinaban, and he and I have killed this Parma, thou shalt run this knife of mine into the throat of Letanë. And our wedding feast shall wipe out the shame which she hath put upon thee.”
The girl's eyes gleamed. “Are these true words or lies?”
“By my mother's bones, they be true words. Did not I flee to thy house and bring thee this pistol I wrenched from Parma's hand to show thee I am no boaster. And as for these three women of Ailap who spy upon thee—show me where they sleep and I will beat them with a heavy stick and drive them back to their mistress.”
Sépé leant her head upon his shoulder and pressed his hand. “Nay, let them be; for now do I know thou lovest me. And to-night, when my mother sleeps, shall we take a canoe and go to Jinaban.”
At dawn next morning Palmer was aroused from his sleep by a loud knocking at the door, and the clamour of many voices.
“Awake, awake, Parma!” cried a man's voice; “awake, for the big sailor man who tried to kill thee yesterday is crossing the lagoon, and is paddling swiftly towards thy house. Quick, quick and shoot him ere he can land.”