Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. "But never mind who, or what I am. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. His brain reeled. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. But go on. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken.
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