mean to tell me that all those volumes I had boxed for Australia and
which I thought lost on the _Lord Nelson_ came ashore on your little
coral isle?"

Came ashore on his coral isle; the girl caught at the words. Of course
he had been saved, he who had saved her from the wild sea; she had
realized that after their last meeting at Strathorn House. But how? He
had reached an island, then--by what means? Some day her uncle would
tell her; she understood now why he had sent for Sir Charles, the motive
that had prompted him to an ordeal, not at all easy. She was glad; she
would never have told herself, and yet she could realize, divine, the
poignant pain this lifting of the curtain, this laying bare the past,
must cost him. She, too, seemed to feel a part of that pain; why? It was
unaccountable.

"Exactly!" said John Steele succinctly. "And never were angels in
disguise more foully welcomed!"

"Bless my soul!" Sir Charles' amazed voice could only repeat. "I
remember most of those books well--a brave array; poets, philosophers,
lawmakers! Then that accounts for your--! It is like a fairy tale."

"A fairy tale!" Jocelyn Wray gazed around her; at books, books, on every
side. She regarded the door leading out; was half-mindful to go; but
heard the man-servant in the hall--and lingered.

"Nothing so pleasant, I assure you," John Steele answered Sir Charles
shortly. Then with few words he painted a picture uncompromisingly; the
girl shrank back; perhaps she wished she had not come. This, truly, was
no fairy tale, but a wild, savage drama, primeval, the picture of a soul