In Macao | Page 2

fortune and a good salary, a constitution which even an Eastern
summer could not break down, and above all, the heart of the girl he
loved, were surely possessions which any king might envy him.
Presently a neat bamboo chair borne by three liveried coolies came at a
trot down the street, and being placed before this last of the passengers,
carried him away into the darkness which, with the suddenness of the
tropics, had fallen upon the city. The stillness was broken only by the
noise of escaping steam from the boat and the regular patter of the
barefooted chair carriers. When the chair had disappeared up the
narrow, winding street, a Portuguese wrapped in a black cloak came
from behind a wall, then by another way walked rapidly over the hill
and down the other side to the Praya, arriving in front of one of the
largest houses on that most beautiful promenade just as the coolies put
down their burden.
The oil lamps along the Praya had been lighted, stretching out to the
Estrada Sam Francisco, where the bright windows in the hospital of
Sam Januarius seemed to be the lake of lights into which this long
stream flowed. No one was abroad, no steps sounded along the
pavement except those of the sentry as he walked, and smoked, before
the neighbouring residence of the Governor. Death at night and sleep in
the day time are the characteristics of Macao. No one seems to work,
play, sing, dance or even read unless the latter indeed may be done in

what Alphonse Daudet calls la Bibliotheque des cigales.
As Robert Adams stepped from the chair, the Portuguese came forward
with outstretched hand saying: "What is the news Dom Robert in Hong
Kong?" "Oh, Dom Pedro, you came out so suddenly I thought I was
attacked. No news, unless it is that the rector of St. John's is to join me
to the loveliest girl in Macao or the world, in just three weeks." "I hope
you won't disappoint him Dom Robert, you came very near doing so
to-night," said Pedro de Amaral with a laugh. "How, pray?" asked
Adams as they entered the now unbarred gate. "You were within three
feet of the water, if you had fallen in, that would have disappointed him.
Not? Three feet is near. Not?" "Yes, and the boiler might have burst,"
replied Adams laughing. "Or more improbable yet the Portuguese
government might have revived Macao, which would kill me with
astonishment my dear Amaral."
Having entered the house he was followed by Dom Pedro, who bent
upon him such a look of hatred as only the eyes of Latin races can give.
The Portuguese turned to the right to his own apartments and Adams
following a servant to the left, was soon in the dimly lighted library of
Dom Luiz de Amaral the father of Dom Pedro. There were not many
books on the shelves but a superb collection of Oriental swords and
knives was arranged in the cases from which the shelves had been
taken. Two old engravings, one of the poet Camoens and the other of
Catarina de Atayde, his beloved, who died of grief at his banishment,
hung on the wall; the rest of the furnishings was of that cosmopolitan
character which is sure to collect in the home of a European resident in
the far East.
"Can't you see me Robert?" said a laughing voice of great sweetness
from a corner of the study. "One would think that both your eyes had
met the same fate that the right one of poor Camoens did in Morocco."
"My darling Priscilla how could I see you ten feet away from the light?
You know olive oil don't give the brightest illumination. But its enough
though." "Don't!" "Just one," and then a sound not unknown to many of
us put a stop to the conversation. "Shall I leave the room children?"
came in merry tones from another corner and immediately an old lady

came forward giving both hands to him. "That miserable oil of Dom
Amaral's has put me into a pretty mess," said Adams half annoyed, but
laughing as he greeted the lady. "Don't berate me before my face dear
friend about my light, especially when you are so soon to take our
brightest light away from us." "Fairly trapped, Dom Amaral," cried
Adams laughing heartily at this third interruption. "And here is Dom
Pedro dressed for dinner," he continued as the younger Amaral entered
the room. "I'll be with you presently and have my eyes toned down to
your Macao standard."
Being so constant a visitor, Robert Adams had his own rooms at Dom
Amaral's, where he found his bags unpacked and the clothes laid out by
those deftest of servants,