and occasionally, when having gone to rest at noon, he awoke at midnight, he would go for a solitary prowl round the palace precincts, pouncing upon ill-doers like a roaming beast of prey. It thus chanced that he lighted upon Tûan Bângau and Âwang Îtam, just as they were quitting the princess's compound; but they fled so swiftly through the darkness that he failed to discover their identity, and was equally unable to determine that of the women whom they had risked their lives to visit. It was a hair-erecting experience for all concerned, however, and for a space the meetings ceased.
But Tûngku Ûteh was finding in the intrigue a delightful relief to the general dullness of palace life, and she was not prepared to let it have so tame an ending. Tûan Bângau, on the other hand, would very willingly have broken off the connection, but Âwang Îtam was in this matter the princess's most ardent advocate, and a series of taunting message: from her speedily reduced the Saiyid to acquiescence. Greater precautions were now necessary, however, and the meetings no longer took place in the palace. Instead, the lovers passed the night in a shed, within the fence of the royal enclosure, which was ordinarily used for storing firewood.
Things had gone on in this way for some time, when Tûngku Ûteh began to weary of the lack of excitement attending the intrigue. Her secret had been kept so well that there was not a breath of scandal to titillate her vanity. She regarded Tûan Bângau as a lover to be proud of, and she itched to show her
