Captain Plum did not let himself finish the thought.  With a powerful effort he brought himself back to his own business on the island, smoked another pipe, and undressed.  He went to bed with the withered lilacs on the table close beside him.  He fell asleep with their scent in his nostrils.  When he awoke they were gone.  He started up in astonishment when he saw what had taken their place.  Obadiah had visited him while he slept.  The table was spread with a white cloth and upon it was his breakfast, a pot of coffee still steaming, and the whole of a cold baked fowl.  Near-by, upon a chair, was a basin of water, soap and a towel.  Nathaniel rolled from his bed with a healthy laugh of pleasure.  The councilor was at least a courteous host, and his liking for the curious old man promptly increased.  There was a sheet of paper on his plate upon which Obadiah had scribbled the following words: 

“My dear Nat:—­Make yourself at home.  I will be away to-day but will see you again to-night.  Don’t be surprised if somebody makes you a visit.”

The “somebody” was heavily underscored and Nathaniel’s pulse quickened and a sudden flush of excitement surged into his face as he read the meaning of it.  The “somebody” was Strang’s wife.  There could be no other interpretation.  He went to the trap and called down for Obadiah but there was no answer.  The councilor had already gone.  Quickly eating his breakfast the master of the Typhoon climbed down the ladder into the room below.  The remains of the councilor’s breakfast were on a table near the door, and the door was open.  Through it came a glory of sunshine and the fresh breath of the forest laden with the perfume of wild flowers and balsam.  A thousand birds seemed caroling and twittering in the sunlit solitude about the cabin.  Beyond this there was no other sound or sign of life.  For many minutes Nathaniel stood in the open, his eyes on the path along which he knew that Strang’s wife would come—­if she came at all.  Suddenly he began to examine the ground where the girl had stood the previous night.  The dainty imprints of her feet were plainly discernible in the soft earth.  Then he went to the path—­and with a laugh so loud that it startled the birds into silence he set off with long strides in the direction of St. James.  From the footprints in that path it was quite evident that Strang’s wife was a frequent visitor at Obadiah’s.

At the edge of the forest, from where he could see the log house situated across the opening, Nathaniel paused.  He had made up his mind that the girl whom he had seen through the king’s window was in some way associated with it.  Obadiah had hinted as much and she had come from there on her way to Strang’s.  But as the prophet’s wives lived in his castle at St. James this surely could not be her home.  More than ever he was puzzled.  As he looked he saw a figure suddenly appear from among the mass of lilac bushes that almost concealed the