Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. . "The plot's out!" cried Jack. If your wife can coach you a bit in native lingo, it will help all round. "By Heaven!" cried he in a tone of surprise, "you have an infant there?" "To be sure I have," replied Wood, angrily; for, finding that the intentions of the stranger were pacific, so far as he was concerned, he thought he might safely venture on a slight display of spirit. .
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