It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. 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. " "You believe—you know it," replied Jonathan, fixing one of his sternest and most searching glances upon him. She tore open the envelope and read it. Saviour's Stairs.
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