"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. You will sever ties with your own kin?” “Yes. "Fifty now and fifty when I return. 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. " He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. Stow it in the saddle, for I will take it with me.
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