



Produced by David Clarke, Rose Acquavella and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









  _The Missionary_

  BY

  George Griffith

  AUTHOR OF

  "_The Angel of the Revolution_,"
  "_The Rose of Judah_,"
  "_The Destined Maid_,"
  "_The Justice of Revenge_,"
  "_Brothers of the Chain_,"
  "_Captain Ishmael_," _etc., etc._


  _London_
  F. V. WHITE & CO., LTD.
  14, Bedford Street, Strand, W.C.
  1902

  PRINTED BY KELLY'S DIRECTORIES LIMITED,
  LONDON AND KINGSTON.




CONTENTS

                  PAGE

  PROLOGUE           1

  CHAPTER I.         4

  CHAPTER II.       22

  CHAPTER III.      31

  CHAPTER IV.       48

  CHAPTER V.        67

  CHAPTER VI.       86

  CHAPTER VII.      96

  CHAPTER VIII.    106

  CHAPTER IX.      115

  CHAPTER X.       125

  CHAPTER XI.      134

  CHAPTER XII.     144

  CHAPTER XIII.    156

  CHAPTER XIV.     167

  CHAPTER XV.      177

  CHAPTER XVI.     188

  CHAPTER XVII.    202

  CHAPTER XVIII.   214

  CHAPTER XIX.     222

  CHAPTER XX.      230

  CHAPTER XXI.     238

  CHAPTER XXII.    249

  CHAPTER XXIII.   260

  CHAPTER XXIV.    276

  CHAPTER XXV.     289

  EPILOGUE.        302




THE MISSIONARY.




PROLOGUE.


"Oh--Eny!"

"Well, you needn't be angry, Vane. I kissed _you_ this morning, you
know."

"That's no reason why you should kiss that chap, too! You're _my_
sweetheart."

"Is she? Well, she won't be much longer, because I'm going to have her."

"Are you? Shut up, or I'll punch your head."

"You can't--and, anyhow, you daren't."

Smack!

It was a good swinging blow with the open hand across the cheek, and it
left a vivid flush behind it on the somewhat sallow skin.

"Oh, if you're going to fight I shall go away, and I shan't be friends
with either of you."

But as the two lads closed, the blue-eyed, golden-haired little beauty
only shrank back a little nearer to the after-wheelhouse of the homeward
bound P. and O. liner whose deck was the scene of this first act of the
tragedy of three lives. A bright flush came into her cheeks, and a new
light began to dance in her eyes as the first look of fright died out of
them. The breath came and went more quickly between the half-opened
lips with a low sibilant sound. They were pretty, well-cut lips, the
upper short and exquisitely curved, and the lower full with the promise
of a sensuous maturity.

She was only seven, but she was woman enough already to know that these
two lads were fighting for _her_--for the favour of her smiles and the
right to her kisses--and so she stayed.

She had heard in India how the tigers fought for their mates, and, with
the precocity of the Anglo-Indian child, she recognised now the likeness
between tigers and men--and boys. She was being fought for. These two
lads, albeit they had neither of them seen their eleventh birthday, were
using all their strength against each other, hammering each other's
faces with their fists, wrestling and writhing, now upstanding and now
on the deck at her feet, were not unlike the tigers she had heard her
father tell her mother about.

She saw the hatred in their eyes, red and swollen by the impact of
well-planted blows. She watched the gleam of their teeth between their
cut and bleeding lips. They hated each other because they loved her--or,
in their boyish way, most firmly believed they did. Their lips were cut
and bleeding because she had kissed them.

The fascination of the fight grew upon her. The hot young blood began to
dance in her veins. She found herself encouraging now one and then the
other--always the one who was getting the worst of it for the time
being--and when at last the younger and slighter but more wiry and
active of them, the one who had caught the other kissing her, took
adroit advantage of a roll of the ship and pitched his antagonist
backwards so heavily against the wheelhouse that he dropped
half-stunned to the deck, she looked proudly at the panting, bleeding
victor, and gasped:

"Oh, Vane, I'm so glad you've won. You haven't quite