And then for the next two years he drifted about from one group to another till he found an island that suited him well—no other white man lived there.
II.
The laughing, merry-voiced native children who, with speedy feet, ran to the house of Iliâti, the trader, to tell him that a visitor was coming from the man-of-war, had gathered with panting breath and hushed expectancy at the door as the figure of the naval officer turned a bend in the path, his right hand clasped with a proud air of proprietorship by that or the ten-year-old son of Alberti the Chief.
Iliati with a half-angry, half-pleased look, held out his hand. “Lamington!”
“Hilliard! old fellow. Why didn't you come on board i Are all your old friends forgotten?”
“Pretty nearly, Lamington. Since I came a cropper over that accursed cotton swindle I've not had any inclination to meet any one I knew—especially any one in the Service, but”—and his voice rang honestly, “I always wondered whether you and I would ever meet again.”
“Hilliard,” and Lamington placed his hand on the trader's shoulder, “I know all about it. And look here, old man. I saw her only two months ago—at her especial request. She sent for me to talk about you.”