Axel Heyst ought not to have cared for his letters--or whatever it was that brought him out after something more than a year and a half in Samburan.

But it was of no use.

He had not the hermit's vocation! That was the trouble, it seems.
Be this as it may, he suddenly reappeared in the world, broad chest, bald forehead, long moustaches, polite manner, and all--the complete Heyst, even to the kindly sunken eyes on which there still rested the shadow of Morrison's death.

Naturally, it was Davidson who had given him a lift out of his forsaken island.

There were no other opportunities, unless some native craft were passing by--a very remote and unsatisfactory chance to wait for.