y.

"How delightful it would be to live on an island like that!" Muriel
murmured, half to herself, as she gazed out wistfully in the direction of
the disappearing coral reef. "With those beautiful palms waving always
over one's head, and that delicious evening air blowing cool through
their branches! It looks such a Paradise!"

Felix smiled and glanced down at her, as he steadied himself with one
hand against the bulwark, while the ship rolled over into the trough of
the sea heavily. "Well, I don't know about that, Miss Ellis," he answered
with a doubtful air, eying her close as he spoke with eyes of evident
admiration. "One might be happy anywhere, of course--in suitable society;
but if you'd lived as long among cocoanuts in Fiji as I have, I dare say
the poetry of these calm palm-grove islands would be a little less real
to you. Remember, though they look so beautiful and dreamy against the
sky like that, at sunset especially (that was a heavy one, that time;
I'm really afraid we must go down to the cabin soon; she'll be shipping
seas before long if we stop on deck much later--and yet, it's so
delightful stopping up here till the dusk comes on, isn't it?)--well,
remember, I was saying, though they look so beautiful and dreamy and
poetical--'Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple spheres of sea,' and
all that sort of thing--these islands are inhabited by the fiercest and
most bloodthirsty cannibals known to travellers."

"Cannibals!" Muriel repeated, looking up at him in surprise. "You don't
mean to say that islands like these, standing right in the very track of
European steamers, are still heathen and cannibal?"

"Oh, dear, yes," Felix replied, holding his hand out as he spoke to catch
his companion's arm gently, and steady her against the wave that was just
going to strike the stern: "Excuse me; just so; the sea's rising fast,
isn't it?--Oh, dear, yes; of course they are; they're all heathen and
cannibals. You couldn't imagine to yourself the horrible bloodthirsty
rites that may this very minute be taking place upon that idyllic-looking
island, under the soft waving branches of those whispering palm-trees.
Why, I knew a man in the Marquesas myself--a hideous old native, as ugly
as you can fancy him--who was supposed to be a god, an incarnate god, and
was worshipped accordingly with profound devotion by all the other
islanders. You can't picture to yourself how awful their worship was. I
daren't even repeat it