" So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. That was an admission all right. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. Once in England, she made all haste to visit Remenham House.
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