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CAST ADRIFT IN THE SOUTH SEAS 53 "Yes—and why?" the girl fol- lowed up eagerly. "Why are they so greedy? They want it for that girl of theirs—that's why. If she was out of the way, they'd not care. They'd go halves. I tell you I know they would. And the old dame says so, too." The last was a clincher. Aside from his hopeless passion for Betty, Man- sher had the seaman's deep-rooted superstitions. Chief among them was his firm belief in the omniscience of "The Owl"—his dread of her as some sort of evil spirit, despite the fact that she was the mother of Betty. That tender tie did not enter into Man- sher's scheme of things. "A'right," he acquiesced, after a brief pause, "I'll see that it's done, Betty, and then—may the devil have me if I dont get you " He laughed harshly, crushed her to his massive chest, and left a kiss on her false lips, that held his heart if it had lost his soul. Long afterward, Marie knew that she must have fallen asleep and dreamed on after Clifford left her that night. Her dreams were sweet ones—of some lovely, softly tinted, perfume-fanned atoll in the South Seas, sovereigned alone by Clifford and herself, far from the reek of blood and the wild recklessness of pirate bands. Born and bred in such an atmosphere, the heart of the girl had learnt to crave for gentler things. Perhaps love made her wise. At any rate, she was awakened by the gentle splash of water on her hand, and awoke to find herself the sole occu- pant of a jolly-boat afloat on a sheet of shimmering silver, limitless and apparently unbounded. Followed one of those long stretches of time that seems to the stricken consciousness to have had no beginning and to be with- out an end. Fright, thirst, hunger, fear, dread of death, and then the far worse dread of life—all these the girl knew. And then, at last, came landfall. To the girl's half-glazed eyes but a hazy outline was visible—the curving beach; the giant palms; the rude native village, huddled, after its fashion, close to the water's edge; and what appeared to be a confused medley of brown giants, gesticulating and uttering sounds that gave a faint, lulling echo to her ears. As the boat, fast losing its buoyancy, drifted still closer to the shores, Marie roused herself, realizing, with that unfailing instinct of self-preservation, that she was about to be flung on the doubtful mercy of some savage tribe of islanders, and that the sharper her wits were, the safer her skin. She had THE ELEANOR From the famous painting by Jas. G. Tyler no idea what island, or group of islands, she had been inadvertently flung upon; but her knowledge of the South Sea islanders in general had taught her that they were inclined to be friendly, easily propitiated, child- ishly pleased at small favors. How- ever, it was not the pleasing gracious- ness she was struggling to acquire that proved her salvation. She had not reckoned on the inveterate su- perstition of the savage—she could not see herself, white-robed, whiter- faced, ethereal, approaching the shores, apparently from out of the Nowhere. So great was the excitement preva- lent on the island, that Marie waded