His listeners sat spellbound. Only the laboured and intense breathing of
Mr. Boxer broke the silence.

"He is alone on the boundless sea," pursued the seer; "night falls. Day
breaks, and a canoe propelled by a slender and pretty but dusky maiden
approaches the castaway. She assists him into the canoe and his head
sinks on her lap, as with vigorous strokes of her paddle she propels the
canoe toward a small island fringed with palm trees."

"Here, look 'ere--" began the overwrought Mr. Boxer.

"H'sh, h'sh!" ejaculated the keenly interested Mr. Thompson. "W'y don't
you keep quiet?"

"The picture fades," continued the old man. "I see another: a native
wedding. It is the dusky maiden and the man she rescued. Ah! the
wedding is interrupted; a young man, a native, breaks into the group. He
has a long knife in his hand. He springs upon the ill-shaped man and
wounds him in the head."

Involuntarily Mr. Boxer's hand went up to his honourable scar, and the
heads of the others swung round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer's face was
terrible in its expression, but Mrs. Gimpson's bore the look of sad and
patient triumph of one who knew men and could not be surprised at
anything they do.

"The scene vanishes," resumed the monotonous voice, "and another one
forms. The same man stands on the deck of a small ship. The name on
the stern is the Peer--no, Paris--no, no, no, Pearl. It fades from the