Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered.
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