“I want to speak to you. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. They had changed identities absolutely. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. And he could not return this love. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am.
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