Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. He had no ideas about daughters. “He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own.
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