” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. " "I know what is good," she replied. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything. I care not. "Boat there!" cried a voice, which Mr.
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