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. ‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water.
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