Indian. His chair is placed in view of the doors «that
open when members enter. And he sits there in a
material paradise—and waits. His head, once auburn,
is now bald; his skin, once fresh, is yellow now and
tough ; his eyes are fishy and lack lustre. He is not
a conversational man. But at long intervals the doors
upon which his eyes are fixed open to a newcomer,
who, entering with a sudden dart, slams them to, and
looks anxiously about him, as if pursued by an enemy.
It is the signal for a strange metamorphosis in the
figure of the expectant sitter. His limbs quicken with
electric suddenness ; pleasure beams in his fishy eyes,
and, rising, he welcomes the newcomer with voluble
■delight. For, once upon a time, he also was Chief
Magistrate of Maubin. ’Tis an exclusive caste.
There is a tale also of an old tragedy, which is told
by the Delta skippers in their cups. It is one of those
pathetic and awful histories which men tell with reluctance,
and never to a stranger. It relates how a
young magistrate who came to Maubin loved a fair
daughter of the soil. She was very soft and gentle, and
her eyes were of the large, dark, and lustrous kind,
which are crucibles for the very hearts of men. Grey-,
headed captains are still moved to emotion when they
describe this beautiful creature—the Lily of Maubin.
She wore the yellow-hearted champak in her glossy
hair, red-gold on her wrists, and shimmered in rich
silks amongst the sunflowers of her native land. For
a year or more they lived happily together, heedless
of Circulars, of the Bishop, of the passing world;
466
A PAGODA IN THE JUNGLE.
p . 466.
•om a pamtmg by J . B . Middleton.