"Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. "I've known him all my life," replied the other. The weed was all right. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own.
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