The negro, though trusting to his vague conception of a code of honor that he associated with fighting against white men, came no nearer.
“O Hume!” he cried again, “open dem door one–time, an’ hear what I fit for say.”
In the strange hush succeeding the frenzied uproar that announced the presence of a host of armed natives, the envoy’s words were clearly audible to the five people in the upper rooms. Hume came out, followed by Bambuk.
“Who are you and what do you want?” said the missionary. “Why do you come to me at night, and threaten the lives of my friends and myself in this manner?”
“I done tell you if Bambuk lib. I no fit for long palaver.”
At this, the interpreter leaned over the rail of the veranda.
“You are Loanda, I think?” he said, using the vernacular.
“Yes,” was the reply. “Tell the white man that the lives of himself and his wife will be spared, and they will be taken in safety to the frontier, if the English girl now in their house is handed over to us at once. She, too, will be well treated. One whom she knows, Miguel Figuero, awaits her at Oku. He is our friend, so she need have no fear. I, Loanda, say it, and that which I say is done.”
Bambuk translated this astounding request literally. Evelyn heard every word, and she alone grasped their terrible import. She appeared in the doorway, white–faced, with eyes that terror had made almost distraught.
“Miguel Figuero!” repeated the bewildered Hume. “Isn’t that the name of the Portuguese rascal you have told us of, Miss Dane?”