To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. 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. "I will at once convince you of the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy really is at hand.
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