" "Where did you get it?" inquired Thames. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. “Thanks, so do you. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. "If," interrupted Jackson, changing his tone: "he does live. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. “Your affectionate “FATHER.
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