.

As the canoe shot out through the mouth of the river into the open bay
the rain ceased as suddenly as it began, and the _Ceres_ loomed up right
ahead.

"Don't hail them, Mallet. Let us go aboard quietly."

They clambered up the side, the two natives following, and, wet and
dripping, entered the cabin.

Corwell stepped to the swinging lamp, which burnt dimly, and pricked up
the wick. His wife seemed to be sound asleep on the cushioned transom
locker.

"Mary," he cried, "wake up, dearest. We---- ... Oh my God,Mallet!"

He sprang to her side, and kneeling beside the still figure, placed his
hand on the blood-stained bosom.

"Dead! Dead! Murdered!" He rose to his feet, and stared wildly at
Mallet, swayed to and fro, and then fell heavily forward.

As the two natives stood at the cabin door, gazing in wondering horror
at the scene, they heard a splash. Nakoda had jumped overboard and was
swimming ashore.

*****

Long before dawn the native war-drums began to beat, and when Selak
and his fellow-murderers reached the mouth of the river they ran into a
fleet of canoes which waited for them. They fought like the tigers they
were, but were soon overcome and made prisoners, tied hand and foot, and
carried ashore to the "House of the Young Men." The gold was taken care
of by the chief, who brought it on board to Corwell.

"When do these men die?" he asked,

"To-day," replied Corwell huskily; "to-day, after I have buried my
wife."

On a little island just within the barrier reef, she was laid to rest,
with the never-ending cry of the surf for her requiem.

At sunset, Corwell and Mallet left the ship and landed at the village,
and as their feet touched the sand the war-drums broke out with
deafening clamour. They each carried a cutlass, and walked quickly
through the thronging natives to the "House of the Young Men."

"Bring them out," said Corwell hoarsely to the chief.

One by one Selak and his fellow-prisoners were brought out and placed
on their feet, the bonds that held them were cut, and their hands
seized and held widely apart. And then Corwell and Mallet thrust their
cutlasses through the cruel hearts.

*****

POISONOUS FISH OF THE PACIFIC ISLANDS

Many years ago I was sent with a wrecking party of native seamen to take
possession of a Swedish barque which had gone ashore on the reef of one
of the Marshall Islands, in the North Pacific. My employers, who had
bought the vessel for L100, were