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. She dare not risk it. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. " "So I perceive," said Ruth, withdrawing her hands. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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