ack, drew herself up with infinite dignity, and said with
perfect enunciation, "Well, you _have_ got an impudence. I must go and
wash my face."

She was about to leave the bar, when Tresco called after her, "My dear,
one minute." From his pocket he drew the dainty ring-case, and held it
out to the girl, who took it eagerly. In a moment the gem was on her
finger. "You dear old bag of tricks!" she exclaimed. "Is it for me?"

"Most certainly," said Benjamin. "One moment." He took the ring between
his forefinger and thumb, as if he were a conjurer about to perform,
glanced triumphantly round the bar-room, held the girl's hand gallantly
in his, deliberately replaced the ring on her finger, and said, "With
this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship; with all my worldly
goods I thee endow."

"Thanks, I'll take the ring," retorted the bar-maid, with mock annoyance
and a toss of her head, "but, really, I can't be bothered with your old
carcase."

"Pleasing delusion," said Tresco, unruffled. "It's your own ring!"

A close, quick scrutiny, and the girl had recognised her refurbished
jewel.

"You bald-headed rogue!" she exclaimed. But Tresco had vanished, and
nothing but his laugh came back through the swinging glass-door.

The bagmen laughed too. But Gentle Annie regarded them indignantly, and
in scornful silence, which she broke to say, "And _now_ I shall go and
wash my face."

CHAPTER II.

The Wreck of the Mersey Witch.

The Maori is a brown man. His hair is straight, coarse, black, and
bright as jet. His eyes are brown, his teeth are pearly white; and, when
he smiles, those brown eyes sparkle and those white teeth gleam. A
Maori's smile is one of Nature's most complete creations.

But as Enoko poked his head out of the door of the hut, his face did not
display merriment. Day was breaking; yet he could see nothing but the
flying scud and the dim outline of the shore; he could hear nothing but
the roar of the breakers, battering the boulders of the beach.

He came out of the hut, his teeth chattering with the rawness of the
morning; and made a general survey of the scene.

"It's too cold," he muttered in his own language. "There's too much
wind, too much sea."

With another look at the angry breakers, he went back into the hut.
"Tahuna," he cried, "there's no fishing to-day--the weather's bad."

Tahuna stirred under his blankets, sat up, and said in Maori, "I'll come
and look for myself."

The