"You!" cried Jack, scornfully. " "Or Jack have escaped," remarked Winny. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. 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. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions.
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