She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. 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. "Then it's all over with us. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica. But, in spite of her attractions, we shall address ourselves to the younger, and more interesting couple. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute.
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