With a faint rustle
of trees the breeze came down in light puffs, playing capriciously for a
time with this emblem of Lakamba's power, that was also the mark of his
servitude; then the breeze freshened in a sharp gust of wind, and the
flag flew out straight and steady above the trees. A dark shadow ran
along the river, rolling over and covering up the sparkle of declining
sunlight. A big white cloud sailed slowly across the darkening sky, and
hung to the westward as if waiting for the sun to join it there. Men and
things shook off the torpor of the hot afternoon and stirred into life
under the first breath of the sea breeze.
Babalatchi hurried down to the water-gate; yet before he passed through
it he paused to look round the courtyard, with its light and shade, with
its cheery fires, with the groups of Lakamba's soldiers and retainers
scattered about. His own house stood amongst the other buildings in that
enclosure, and the statesman of Sambir asked himself with a sinking heart
when and how would it be given him to return to that house. He had to
deal with a man more dangerous than any wild beast of his experience: a
proud man, a man wilful after the manner of princes, a man in love. And
he was going forth to speak to that man words of cold and worldly wisdom.
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