“But Julian, we don’t even know each other!” She exclaimed. 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. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. “Hill has asked for you, and they will take his depositions to-night. . Old Lancashire families both. It is very important because I have lost my proof.
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