"If you could stretch a point, ma'am," said the sailor, "it might be as well for him. I've got good news."
"About his daughter?" asked the nurse. She, like every one else in Suva, was deeply interested in this especial patient's story. He had come to Suva in his own schooner, the Sybil, several weeks before, furious with rage and despair at the loss of his daughter, and eager to demand assistance from the High Commissioner of the Western Pacific, although it seemed by no means clear in what manner Her Majesty's representative could aid him. Before the matter had even been discussed, however, he had fallen seriously ill of sunstroke and excitement combined, and had been sent to hospital, with rather a bad chance of recovery. He was just turning the corner now, and the nurse—who could not but admire his rather weather-beaten good looks and romantic history—regarded him as her most interesting patient.
"Yes, it's about his daughter," answered the sailor. "I'm the mate of the Sybil, ma'am; Harris is my name. Perhaps you'd kindly read this."
He held out a long slip of printed paper, containing a résumé of the cables for the day—Suva's substitute for a daily paper.
The nurse took it, and read:
"The missing daughter of Edward Saxon, owner and master of the trading schooner Sybil, has at last reappeared. Her fate has excited much interest and conjecture all over the Pacific. She arrived in Sydney yesterday on board the cable-ship Clotho, by which she was picked up on the 2nd instant, in an open boat, alone, and two hundred miles from any land. She had experienced bad weather, and was much exhausted for want of food, but declared herself capable, if it had been necessary, of reaching the nearest island group unaided. She had been carried away, as was surmised, by the captain of the island schooner Ikurangi, who marooned her on a remote leper island, Vaka, and then sailed for South America. Revenge for the loss of a pearl-shell bed of disputed ownership is said to have been the motive of this unparalleled outrage."
"He shall have it at once," said the nurse cordially. "It'll do him more good than our medicines."
* * * * *
The story was a popular one in the hospital for months after, and it had not been quite forgotten when, towards the close of the hot season, a Sydney paper furnished the last chapter of the tale. Saxon's late nurse read it aloud to the others at afternoon tea, and they all agreed (not knowing how Vaiti's fingers had cogged the dice of chance) that it was a wonderful Providence and a real judgment. The item read:
"THE LAST OF AN OCEAN ROMANCE.