Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. ‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. 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. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. Och! many a mug o' bubb have I drained wi' the landlord, Joe Hind.
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