Mark’s surprise at this abrupt termination of the interview was great, but as Rafaravavy retired hastily, he had no resource but to follow his friend.
“Why so sharp?” he asked, as they passed along the corridor.
“Because you have said enough,” returned the Secretary, with a quiet smile. “You may understand your own women, no doubt, but not the Malagasy girls as well as I do. When a man has said enough to a woman he should stop and let it simmer. All the rest that he would say she will say to herself—and say it much better, too! But tell me, when do you think Ravoninohitriniony will meet Rafaravavy?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that a true lover is sure to manage a meeting soon—and somehow.”
He was glad to be able to make this indefinite reply; for although he trusted the Secretary, and would have revealed his own affairs fully to him, he felt that he had no right to reveal the affairs of his friend to any one.
Before they reached the palace-yard a loud report was heard. The palace shook as with an earthquake. Loud cries of soldiery were heard without, and Mark’s heart sank with an undefinable dread.
To account for this report we must go back a little. When Hockins and Ebony were left, as we have seen, to mix their “powders,” the former, being a reckless man, forgot to put his pipe out, and Ebony being a careless man, (as regarded himself), did not observe the omission. The consequence was that the seaman kept on puffing and emitting sage reflections to his admiring friend while they mixed their compounds in concert.
“Hand me the powder, Ebony.”
“Das good—ha! ha! das awrful good,” cried the negro, referring to the latest sage reflection—as he pushed across the powder canister, which was a large one.
At that inauspicious moment a spark fell from the pipe! Next moment the door was burst open, the window blown out, Hockins was laid fiat on his back, while Ebony went head-over-heels upon the floor!