wanted in the boats. He
is so quick, and yet so quiet."

"I thought he did not look like a Tarawa native," I said, "and I saw
that he is tattooed like a Samoan."

"He has lived in Samoa for a great many years, and is very proud of that
tattooing, I am sure. He is a native of Danger Island, a long way to
the south-east of this group, and came here about a year ago with a girl
named Niabon." She hesitated a little. "I suppose you have not heard of
her?"

"No, I have not. Who is she?"

"They--that is, the natives generally, and some of the whites as
well--call her 'the Danger Island witch woman.'"

"Oh, yes," I exclaimed, "I _have_ heard of the 'witch woman,' but that
was when I was trading at Gallic Harbour on Admiralty Island. There was
a poor fellow there, Hairy Willard, who was dying of poison given him
by some chief, and I remember quite well his wife, who was a Tahitian,
telling me that if the witch woman of Danger Island was near she would
quickly render the poison innocuous."

Mrs. Krause's dark eyes lit up with undoubted pleasure--"I must tell her
that--"

"Is she living on Tarawa, then?"

"Yes, in this village, and she is in the house at this moment. She would
like to speak to you. Do you mind her coming in?" "Indeed, I shall be
very pleased." My hostess stood at the table for a few moments, with
her face averted from me. Then she turned and spoke to me, and to my
astonishment I saw that she was struggling hard to suppress her tears. I
rose and led her to a seat.

"You are not well, Mrs. Krause," I said. "Sit down, and let me call one
of your servants."

"No, please do not do that, Mr. Sherry. But I will sit down, and--and I
should like to ask you a question."

She was trembling as she spoke, but suddenly whipped out her
handkerchief, dried her tears, and sat up erect.

"Mr. Sherry, you are an Englishman, or an American--I do not know
which--but I am sure that you are a gentleman and will truthfully answer
the question I ask. Will you not?"

"I will, indeed, if it is in my power to do so," I replied earnestly.

She placed her hand on mine and looked at me steadily.

"Mr. Sherry, you and I have been talking on various matters for more
than an hour. Have I, in your opinion, given you the impression that
I am mentally deranged? Look at me. Tell me--for I am an unhappy,
heartbroken woman, whose life for two years has been a daily torture and
misery--what you _do_ think. Sometimes I imagine that wh