The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. It will be altogether you. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL.
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