The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. Lucy? Come 177 on out. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. Perhaps because I don’t know. " "'Tis he, by Heaven!" cried Jonathan; "this is lucky.
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