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a creed that is quite alien to their natures.”

      “That is not the sort of thing you should say,” the Governor said sharply. “You know as well as I do, Roxana, that it is the policy of the Dutch authorities to further Christianity if it is at all possible.”

      Again the Count knew that the Governor was talking to impress. At the same time he had not missed the familiar way that he addressed the English girl.

      Roxana ignored him and instead she said to the Count,

      “I must explain that, now my uncle is dead, I am interested only in my own work.”

      “And what is that?”

      “I am a sculptor in wood.”

      “You mean you are a carver?”

      “That sounds a rather crude name for something that is an art, especially on this Island.”

      “I read that carving is one of the national occupations. They make the decorations for the Temples and the masks that are used for their Festivals.”

      The Count was rather pleased that he could show himself so knowledgeable and thought that the Governor was surprised especially as he said,

      “I see you know a great deal about the native customs, mijnheer.”

      “I always make it my business to know as much as possible about any place I visit,” the Count replied reprovingly. “Will you not sit down, Miss Barclay? There are quite a number of things I would like to talk to you about and that I suspect the Balinese would not wish to tell me and the Dutch would not want me to know!”

      Roxana sat down on the chair he indicated. Then with a glance at the Governor she said,

      “If I say too much, it will get me into trouble.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I am only here on sufferance. I believe a number of the Dutch residents have already said that, now my uncle is dead, I should leave the Island.”

      “You are living alone?”

      There was an incredulous note in the Count’s voice.

      “Not exactly,” she replied. “I have with me someone who I consider to be quite sufficient as a chaperone, an elderly woman who was with my aunt for many years.”

      “A servant!” the Governor said sharply.

      “My aunt looked upon Geertruida as a companion, which is what she now is to me.”

      The Governor sighed as if in exasperation.

      “I have suggested, mijnheer,” he said, addressing the Count, “that Miss Barclay, if she wishes to stay in Bali, should live with some respectable Dutch family. I could easily find her a place in one of their Villas, but she will not agree.”

      “I prefer to be on my own,” Roxana said. “I work very hard and sometimes late at night. That would certainly prove an inconvenience to most people.”

      “You should accept the situation I have offered to you,” the Governor almost growled.

      The Count was aware that Roxana stiffened.

      Then she said in a cold voice that she had not used before,

      “What you have suggested, Your Excellency, is quite unacceptable! I would not consider it under any circumstances.”

      Chapter Two

      Roxana was feeling nervous.

      She hoped that she showed no sign of it, but she was well aware that this newcomer might make trouble.

      There had been a lot of trouble already caused by the women of the Dutch community who had said categorically that since her uncle was dead she should not be allowed to stay in Bali.

      Roxana knew that they were not concerned so much with her position as a young woman as that they were jealous.

      It would be impossible for the fat and unattractive mevrouws whose complexions had deteriorated in the sun and whose heavy eating had put many surplus pounds on their figures not to resent the way she looked.

      They watched her suspiciously and they also made it clear, as they had from the time of her arrival in Bali, that they did not consider a Missionary or his relatives to be of any social consequence.

      Roxana often thought with some amusement how easily she could change their attitude by telling them who were her relatives in England and giving them the names of her father and mother.

      But it would be far more dangerous for them to be interested in her and she preferred their ostracism to their patronage.

      Sometimes she thought frantically that she was fighting a lone battle against an enemy that encroached on her from every side.

      Then, because she had a sense of humour, she laughed at her own fears and told herself that in reality there was nothing to frighten her.

      That was until the Governor had become a more insidious and frightening enemy than the Dutch people he ruled over.

      When her uncle by marriage decided to visit Bali as a Missionary and agreed to take her with him, it had seemed an adventure so intriguing and so exciting that, while Roxana had said a prayer of gratitude every day until the actually sailed, she also held her breath!

      She had been so afraid that something would prevent them from setting off at the last moment for the East, which was to her like an El Dorado that she imagined would always be out of her reach.

      But just as soon as she arrived in Holland after her father’s death to stay with her Aunt Agnes, she had realised that her uncle, Pieter Helderik, was restless and at loggerheads with the small community where they lived.

      He was a brilliantly intelligent but over-sensitive man who lived on his nerves. It made him find the daily round of parochial work dull and uninspiring.

      He preached with a fire that would have galvanised anyone but the stolid Dutch burghers into a flame of enthusiasm that would have equalled his own.

      Instead they sat solidly in their pews with an expression on their faces that Roxana knew was one of disapproval.

      They thought that Pieter Helderik was far too theatrical and too dramatic and they did not wish to feel anything about the God they worshipped except that He was there to supply their needs and be a comforting background in their uneventful lives.

      “How can I move them?” Pieter Helderik asserted once in despair to his niece.

      “I think only dynamite could do that, Uncle Pieter,” Roxana had replied.

      He had laughed a little ruefully.

      “I try, Heaven knows I try, to enthuse the spirit of God into them, but it is rather like thumping a goose feather mattress and I am well aware that I make no impression.”

      He besieged the authorities until he eventually made the Dutch change their minds about excluding Missionaries from Bali.

      He had been supported by the Roman Catholics and he had also aroused public opinion on the iniquities of leaving a conquered country without the solace and privilege of hearing the Christian message.

      Reluctantly and with a scepticism that they did not attempt to disguise, the authorities finally conceded that temporary permits only should be accorded to a few specially chosen Missionaries.

      These would be reviewed year by year and very stringent conditions were laid on those they were granted to.

      Sometimes Roxana was certain that she would not be allowed to accompany her uncle and aunt on their voyage.

      She fancied that the Dutch authorities, bored with Pieter Helderik’s unceasing petitions, were actually glad to rid themselves of someone they considered an intolerable nuisance.

      Whatever the reason

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