It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. Then she came a few steps to meet him. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. "Yes; and I hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said Quilt. His room was last at the end of one winding corner.
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