it would be foolish to waste any more time in considering.... How simple the problems of taking office must be to those politicians who feel it their duty to do so, as they mostly, in England, say they do. Now, I feel nothing of the sort, nor do I see why any one ever should. But I certainly feel that I shall do it, which comes to the same thing."

So reflecting, Mr. Thinkwell went into his house to see Charles, whom he found quieter, with abated fever.

3

William and Rosamond were driven up from the lagoon by a terrific burst of thunder and rain. The great black cloud had swept from the horizon till it stood over the island, and there it discharged its fury. Every one caught out in it was lashed, beaten, drenched to the skin, before they could reach shelter. The wind broke trees in two, rending off great branches, laden with cowering birds, from their stems; cocoa-nuts, fruit, and monkeys pelted like great hailstones on the ground. Thunder rolled and clapped; lightning struck five palm trees, a house, and several pigs. Monstrous waves swept over the reef and across the lagoon and thundered up the island and into the wood, breaking and carrying back to sea the boats on the shore and smashing a small house.

It was certainly a storm.

The Thinkwells, Captain Paul, Mr. Merton, and the nurse, sat in Belle Vue listening to it, barely making their voices heard above it. The nurse said it was the worst storm she remembered. Captain Paul said, gloomily, that it would be a miracle if the Typee came through it; he could scarcely have pulled her through himself.

"We shall hear no more of her," he said. "Serve

those damned scoundrels right. But there goes our one chance of rescue."

"Not necessarily," said Mr. Thinkwell. "Some of the crew may be picked up."

"Picked up by sharks," muttered Mr. Merton, who was in an ill humour, partly because there was not enough to drink in Belle Vue.

The nurse went back to Charles, who lay turning and moaning, his head disagreeably affected by the storm.

"There, there," said the nurse. "There, there, there."

"Where?" asked Charles, suddenly opening his

eyes.

"Well, I declare," she said. "If you're not better! There, now!"

"Where?" asked Charles again, thinking she meant that Flora was there, or else a mad monkey with blue teeth.

But the nurse did not know where, and could not tell him.

CHAPTER XXIV

AFTER THE STORM

I

THE morning was windy and bright. Only a heaving sea and a wreck-strewn island showed that a storm had been. Pools of the sea lay about the emerald grass; smashed trees sprawled across the paths. Landowners ruefully surveyed their property, setting woodmen to gather up their strewn fruit and keep off marauders. Mr. Lane wandered downcast among his pigs, some of whom had been struck dead by lightning.

Rosamond wandered about the beaten woods, where children picked up the tumbled fruit and nuts. In the wet tangle of green, the birds were singing again, the aggrieved monkeys talking shrilly about the storm. Rosamond met Flora.

"Good-morning, Rosamond. How is Charles? I heard he was sick of a fever."

"He is getting better." Rosamond hesitated. "He kept waking all night," the nurse had said, "and saying names I don't know. But most often Flora-that must be Miss Flora Smith. He is quieter now, the fever all gone; but I think it might cheer him up to see her just for a minute."

"I wish you would come and see him," said Rosamond. "He would like it."

"Why, of course, I will. I was cross with him, poor Charles, when last we spoke. I was furious with all the world, because of that detestable affair of the ship. I can't make out why some one doesn't murder grand

mamma, fit or no fit. Wicked old woman!

But it

wasn't poor Charles's fault, and I think I was unkind. To be sure I will come, if you think he would care to see me."

They walked along the soaked path to Belle Vue. Rosamond took Flora in to where Charles lay, pale and exhausted, with dark, sunk eyes and swollen lips. When Flora entered, with "You poor Charles; are you better?" a violent flush rushed over his face and ebbed.

"Only a minute," said the nurse. "He must be kept ever so quiet. A teeny weeny little minute!"

She tiptoed from the room, and Rosamond followed. "Poor Charles," said Flora again, standing by him. "You've had a bad time."

"Yes," said Charles huskily. "You must get better quickly. And, Charles, you must forgive me for being so ill-humoured to you. I was prodigiously shocked and unhappy, you know. I'm better now-settling down, I suppose. Though I am still wretched, and grandmamma I shall never, never forgive. But, after all, it is as bad for you as for us. That's what Peter said to me. . . ." She caught herself up.

"It was a shocking storm last night. Trees broken and houses crushed-you should have seen the sea. .. Well, I mustn't stay, or nurse will say I've made you worse. Good-bye, Charles."

"Good-bye."

He stared hungrily at her as she stood there, backed by the window and the green wood light. She laid a cool hand lightly on his, and smiled kindly.

"You must get well quickly."

She was gone.

She had been kind, careless, and cool. She did not

love him; she had never loved him; her kisses had not meant that. She was beyond his reach.

Dreams, dreams, dreams!

Charles, not greatly caring about anything, shut his eyes as the nurse bustled in, lest she should speak to him.

2

Rosamond went out with Flora. In the wind-beaten wood, beneath the blue, washed sky, shyness fell upon her. She said, bluntly, "Charles loves you."

Flora glanced at her, doubtful how to reply, and slightly lifted a shoulder. The simple, obvious child.

"But you don't love him," Rosamond pursued, with something of her father's inclination to precise and accurate statement of a situation.

"Love him! Well, no. I like Charles.

"I think he hoped you would love him," said Rosamond, "some day. If you never will, perhaps it would be better not to let him think you may so that he won't be disappointed again. You love Peter Conolly, don't you?"

"What a catechism! But, since you will have it, yes, I love Peter."

Rosamond gave a little sigh.

"It's a pity," she said, "for Charles. But still, it can't be helped, of course. Only don't let Charles think things again. . . .”

"My dear, am I responsible for Charles's thoughts?" "Yes," said Rosamond bluntly. "Partly."

him on, perhaps? There was no need. without my help." Rosamond coloured.

"Oh, indeed. You fancy I led Well, let me tell you I didn't. Charles did all his own chasing, Chasing! Not a nice word.