CHAPTER XXIX

Ten months had passed since Dan Pritchard had seen a human being whiter than Tamea or talked English to a white man. He was acutely conscious of this flight of time as he sat on the veranda of the green bungalow and watched a schooner beating up the coast of Riva. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the Pelorus, Tamea,” he remarked. “Even at this distance her lines look too fine for an ordinary trading schooner. I hope she drops in. I’d like to have a visit with Hackett. That man has a superior mind.” Tamea glanced …