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. She wanted to know. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. There was also a Maze, (the name is still retained in the district,) into which the debtor could run, and through the intricacies of which it was impossible for an officer to follow him, without a clue. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. When he recovered his mental faculties, he would lie there, neutral; they could save him or let him die, as they pleased; and the doctor knew that he would wear himself out forcing his own will to live into this neutrality.
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