"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. He has three days to live. There was one letter. He saw now that it was merely a boy. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. . . " "Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, I've no doubt. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection.
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