Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. Spurling has induced him to sit down again. "Not my king's," returned Wood. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now.
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