"I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. She laid her hand upon his arm. " "Ruth what?" "Enschede; Ruth Enschede. He remembered it suddenly. He appeared to thunder dire happenings if she did not obey him without further ado. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear. 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. Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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