I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. The father was a madman. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key.
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