The spirits, the Malay said, had dwelt upon the island for many years.

His father and grandfather knew the place and feared it.

Taung S'Ali would never be seen again.
This queer yarn was the first indication they received of the whereabouts of any persons who might possibly be shipwrecked Europeans, though not survivors from the _Sirdar_.

Anyhow, the tiny dot lay in the vessel's northward track, so a course was set to arrive off the island soon after dawn.
Events on shore, as seen by the officer on watch, told their own tale.
Wherever Dyaks are fighting there is mischief on foot, so the _Orient_ took a hand in the proceedings.
But Sir Arthur Deane, after an agonized scrutiny of the weird-looking persons escorted by the sailors to the water's edge, sadly acknowledged that neither of these could be the daughter whom he sought.

He bowed his head in humble resignation, and he thought he was the victim of a cruel hallucination when Iris's tremulous accents reached his ears-- "Father, father! Don't you know me ?" He stood up, amazed and trembling.
"Yes, father dear.