“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. “A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. CHAPTER I. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. We dressed it in a little music.
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