[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Photoplay. The Ragged Edge_. MIMI PALMERI AS RUTH EMSCHEDE, ALFRED LUNT AS HOWARD SPURLOCK. ]

THE RAGGED EDGE

BYHAROLD MACGRATH

AUTHOR OFDRUMS OF JEOPARDY, ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENESFROM THE PHOTOPLAYPRODUCED BYDISTINCTIVE PICTURES CORPORATION

NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

THE RAGGED EDGE

CHAPTER I

The Master is inordinately fond of young fools. That is why theyare permitted to rush in where angels fear to tread--and survivetheir daring! This supreme protection, this unwritten warranty todisregard all laws, occult or apparent, divine or earthly, may beattributed to the fact that none but young fools dream gloriously. For such of us as pretend to be wise--and we are but fools in alesser degree--we know that humanity moves onward only by theimpellant of fine dreams. Sometimes these dreams are simple andtender; sometimes they are magnificent. 

With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculousfancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when wehave only destinations: that we are something immortal, when eachof us is in truth only the repository of a dream. The dream flowersand is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served oursingular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossedaside when sucked of its ruddy juice. 

We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. We haveonly those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in theother. 

This is a tale of two young fools. 

 * * * * *

In the daytime the streets of the ancient city of Canton are yetfilled with the original confusion--human beings in quest of food. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestionsthat suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. 

It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. A tourist caravan of fourpole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. It had rained during thenight, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. From abi-secting street came shouting and music. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the pole-chair cooliespressed toward the left and halted. 

A wedding procession turned the corner. All the world over awedding procession arouses laughter and derision in the bystanders. Even the children jeer. It may be instinctive; it may be thatchildren vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys isdisillusion. 

The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the betterto see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. 

"What a wonderful colour!" she exclaimed. 

"Kingfisher feathers, " said Ah Cum. "It is an ordinary wedding, " headded; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Probably she was married yearsago and is now merely on the way to her husband's house. Thepalanquin is hired and so is the procession. Quite ordinary. "

The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once thepleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across thegirl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. 

In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumblingtom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. She had never before heardthe noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputteringracket caused her to wince. Presently the odour of burnt powdermingled agreeably with that of the incense. 

She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound--theguttural Chinese tongue. She foraged about in her mind for somesatisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurglingdrone the Chinese called a language. At length she hit upon it:bubbling water. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. 

To Ah Cum, who was watching her covertly, the smile was like a bitof unexpected sunshine. What with these converging roofs that shutout all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at thispoint. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile. 

The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured inbehind. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. 

The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge thatshe would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental andintentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents theintrusion of the _fan-quei_--foreign devil. The chair was torture. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which restedupon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidentalchair with a foot-rest. The coolies proceeded at a swinging, mincing trot, which gave to the suspended seat a dancing actionsimilar to that of a suddenly agitated hanging-spring of abirdcage. It was impossible to meet the motion bodily. 

Her shoulders began to ache. Her head felt absurdly like one ofthose noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle. .. ! For each pause she was grateful. Whenever Ah Cum(whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of herchair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain thecords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. Supposing thewire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into thestreet? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. 

This amazing world she had set forth to discover! Yesterday at thistime she had had no thought in her head about Canton. America, theland of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to flythitherward. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enoughfor two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied withyellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strangefoods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. These were lesslike streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Itwas only when they came into a square that daylight had a positivequality. 

So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather thanleaped from object to object. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantlyvarnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against;baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak andblackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in whatappeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. Sheglimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to thefishmongers. Carp, tench, and roach were so divided that even thefins, heads and fleshless spines were sold. There were doorways topeer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. 

Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on astage-like platform. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, anda hat with a turned up brim. Balanced on his nose were enormoustortoise-shell spectacles. A ragged gray moustache drooped from thecorners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from hischin. She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the_literati_ and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy ofConfucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of allphilosophy is Nothing. 

Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocadeloom. Ah Cum halted the caravan and indicated that they might stepwithin and watch. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in afaded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He held inhis hands many threads. From time to time the man below wouldshout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of aharpist, only to recover them instantly. There was a strip of oldrose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart forthe want of it. 

The girl wondered what effect the information would have upon AhCum if she told him that until a month ago she had never seen acity, she had never seen a telephone, a railway train, anautomobile, a lift, a paved street. She was almost tempted to tellhim, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity breakthe immobility of his yellow countenance. 

But no; she must step warily. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. Hersafety lay in pretense--that what she saw was as a tale twice told. 

A phase of mental activity that men called courage: to summon atwill this energy which barred the ingress of the long cold fingersof fear, which cleared the throat of stuffiness and kept the glancelevel and ever forward. She possessed it, astonishing fact! She hadsummoned this energy so continuously during the past four weeksthat now it was abiding; she knew that it would always be with her, on guard. And immeasurable was the calm evolved from thisknowledge. 

The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread ofretrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register againthe things she saw. 

"Jade, " said Ah Cum. 

She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. Polecoolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade--whitejade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. 

"On the way to the cutters, " said Ah Cum. "But we must be gettingalong if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. "

As if an order had come to her somewhere out of space, the girlglanced sideways at the other young fool. 

So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. The tail-ender ofthis little caravan, he had been rather out of it. But he had shownno desire for information, no curiosity. Whenever they stepped fromthe chairs, he stepped down. If they entered a shop, he paused bythe doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. 

Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he waspossibly twenty-four. She liked his face; it had on it thesuggestion of gentleness, of fineness. She was lamentably withoutcomparisons; such few young men as she had seen--white men--hadbeen on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. 

The word _handsome_ was a little beyond her grasp. She could notapply it in this instance because she was not sure the applicationwould be correct. Perhaps what urged her interest in the youngman's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffedeyelids and the bloodshot whites. She knew the significance: thered corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none towarn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. 

Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudderand shudder. He did not like it. Why, then, did he touch it?

As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note thelittle beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. He was inmisery; he was paying for last night's debauch. His clothes weresmartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but theday would come when he would grow indifferent to bodilycleanliness. What a pity!

For all her ignorance of material things--the human inventionswhich served the physical comforts of man--how much she knew aboutman himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual propswhich permit man to walk on two feet instead of four--broken, without resilience. And now she was witnessing or observing thecomplicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. She knew now thesupreme human energy which sent men to hell or carried them totheir earthly heights. Selfishness. 

Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying hisbottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordidpictures she had seen so often. In her case the barrier was notselfishness but the perception that her interest would bemisinterpreted, naturally. What right had a young woman to possessthe scarring and intimate knowledge of that dreg of human society, the beachcomber?

CHAPTER II

Ah Cum lived at No. 6 Chiu Ping le, Chiu Yam Street. He was aCanton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from YaleUniversity. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the housefor tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups withouthandles. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as likeas not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket. 

He was tall, slender, and suave. He spoke English with astonishingfacility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. Hemade his headquarters at the Victoria on the Sha-mien, andgenerally met the Hong-Kong packet in the morning. You leftHong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Cantonthe next morning. Ah Cum presented his black-bordered card to suchindividuals as seemed likely to require his services. 

This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted ofthe girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim anddoubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to beconsiderably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed. 

In the beginning Ah Cum would run his glance speculatively over theassortment and select that individual who promised to be the mostcompanionable. He was a philosopher. Usually his charges bored himwith their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his informationmore often than not went into one ear and out of the other. To-dayhe selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. He motioned theyoung man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youthappeared to be a quantity close to zero. Being a Chinaman in bloodand instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. Awoman was born to have children, particularly male children. 

Half a day had turned the corner of the hours; and Ah Cum admittedthat this girl puzzled him. He dug about in his mind for a term tofit her, and he came upon the word _new_. She was new, unlike anyother woman he had met in all his wide travel. He could not tellwhether she was English or American. From long experience with bothraces he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to thisgirl. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; butfrom time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced himto grope mentally. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of theaverage American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. 

Ah, these English! They travelled all over, up and down the world, not to acquire information but rather to leave the impress of theirsuperiority as a race. It was most amusing. They would sufferamazing hardships to hunt the snow-leopard; but in the Temple ofFive Hundred Gods they would not take the trouble to ask the nameof one!

But this girl, she was alone. That added to his puzzle. At thismoment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity tostudy her. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that wouldspeak for courage and resolution. She was as fair as the lily ofthe lotus. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body wasstrong and vital. Whence had she come: whither was she bound?

A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for aspell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party hadbecome separated. It was then that the young man entered histhought with some permanency: because there was no apparent reasonfor his joining the tour, since from the beginning he had shown nointerest in anything. He never asked questions; he never addressedhis companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped hisforehead. For the first time it occurred to Ah Cum that the youngman might not be quite conscious of his surroundings, that he mightbe moving in that comatose state which is the aftermath of a longdebauch. For all that, Ah Cum was forced to admit that his chargedid not look dissipated. 

Ah Cum was more or less familiar with alcoholic types. In thegenuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slynessin ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and thelips. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, onlyshadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. He wasmore like a man who had left his bed in the middle ofconvalescence. 

Ah Cum's glance returned to the girl. Of course, it reallysignified nothing in this careless part of the world that she wastravelling alone. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinarysituation was her manner: she was guileless. She reminded him ofhis linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: itbecame filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. Allthat was needed to complete the simile was that the girl shouldburst into song. 

But, alas! Ah Cum shrugged philosophically. His commissions thisday would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. Thespinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl andthe young man had purchased nothing. That she had not bought onepiece of linen subtly established in Ah Cum's mind the fact thatshe had no home, that the instinct was not there, or she would havemade some purchase against the future. 

Between his lectures--and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer--hemanoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who shewas, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What isthat?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. 

It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. Here they would be having lunch. Ah Cum said that it was customaryto give the chair boys small money for rice. The four touristscontributed varied sums: the spinsters ten cents each, the girl ashilling, the young man a Mexican dollar. The lunches wereindividual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeeredfrom the Victoria. 

"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters--Prudence Jedson. 

"Yes, " answered the girl. 

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?"--serenely. 

"The men. "

"They know. "

"They know what?"

"When and when not to speak. You have only to look resolute andproceed upon your way. "

Ah Cum lent an ear covertly. 

"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. 

The spinsters offered a good example of how singular each humanbeing is, despite the fact that in sisters the basic corpuscle isthe same. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; forAngelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with thoseadvanced by Prudence. 

"I am twenty, " said the girl. 

Prudence shook her head. "You must have travelled a good deal toknow so much about men. "

The girl smiled and began to munch a sandwich. Secretly she wasgratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. Still, itwas true about men. Seldom they molested a woman who appeared toknow where she was going and who kept her glance resolutely to thefore. 

Said Prudence, with commendable human kindness: "My sister and Iare going on to Shanghai and Peking. If you are going that way, whynot join us. "

The girl's blood ran warmly for a minute. "That is very kind ofyou, but I am on my way to America. Up to dinner yesterday I didnot expect to come to Canton. I was the last on board. Wasn't theriver beautiful under the moonlight?"

"We did not leave our cabins. Did you bring any luggage?"

"All I own. In this part of the world it is wise never to beseparated from your luggage. "

The girl fished into the bottle for an olive. How clever she was, to fool everybody so easily! Not yet had any one suspected thetruth: that she was, in a certain worldly sense, only four weeksold, that her every act had been written down on paper beforehand, and that her success lay in rigidly observing the rules which sheherself had drafted to govern her conduct. 

She finished the olive and looked up. Directly in range stood thestrange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. Hewas leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. She notedthe dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Whata pity! But why?

There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it:that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. This youngman did not drink because he sought the false happiness that luredmen to the bottle. To her mind, recalling the picture of him thenight before, there had been something tragic in the grim silentmanner of his tippling. Peg after peg had gone down his blisteredthroat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gazeroved inquisitively. Apparently he had projected beyond his tablesome hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dininghour. 

Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but washe registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the oldKanaka woman had said. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinarycases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. Hehad not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellowtravellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of wherehe was. 

Suddenly she became aware of the fact that he had brought no lunch. A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about herears. So she approached him with sandwiches. 

"You forgot your lunch, " she said. "Won't you take these?"

For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she werereal. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. 

"Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. I'm nothungry. "

"Better eat these, even if you don't want them, " she urged. "Myname is Ruth Enschede. "

"Mine is Howard Spurlock. "

Immediately he stepped back. Instinctively she imitated thisaction, chilled and a little frightened at the expression of terrorthat confronted her. Why should he stare at her in thisfashion?--for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at hishead?

CHAPTER III

He had said it, spoken it like that . .. His own name! After allthese weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!. .. Tohave given it to this girl without her asking!

The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. He sawthe expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. He shut his eyes andgroped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit ofmummery would get over. 

"I beg your pardon!. .. A bit rocky this morning. .. . That windowthere. .. . Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again. 

"I understand, " she said. The poor boy, imagining things! "That'swant of substantial food. Better take these sandwiches. "

"All right; and thank you. I'll eat them when we start. Just nowthe water-chestnuts. .. . "

She smiled, and returned to the spinsters. 

Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. What he needed was nota food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnutssoothed his burning tongue and throat. He had let go his name soeasily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; hecould not remember. What a frightened fool he was! If he could notremember her name, it was equally possible that already she hadforgotten his. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for hisfeet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Mirages, over which hewas constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, sinceinvariably they spanned solid ground. 

But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. If headhered to this policy--to keep away from her inconspicuously--shewould forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of itwould sink below the level of recollection. That was life. Theywere only passers-by. 

Drink for him had a queer phase. It did not cheer or fortify himwith false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in amist of unreality. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. He hatedthe taste of it. The first peg was torture. But for all that, itoffered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, andconscience lost its edge to bite. 

He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. His hand shook soviolently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie onthe floor because he dared not stoop. 

Ah Cum, sensing the difficulty, approached, recovered the damphandkerchief and returned it. 

"Thanks. "

"Very interesting, " said the Chinaman, with a wave of his taperinghand toward the roofs. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenlypetrified. "

"Or the flat stones in the meadows, teeming with life underneath. Ants. "

"You are from America?"

"Yes. " But Spurlock put up his guard. 

"I am a Yale man, " said Ah Cum. 

"Yale? Why, so am I. " There was no danger in admitting this fact. Spurlock offered his hand, which Ah Cum accepted gravely. A brokenlaugh followed the action. "Yale!" Spurlock's gaze shifted to thedead hills beyond the window; when it returned to the Chinamanthere was astonishment instead of interest: as if Ah Cum had been aphantom a moment since and was now actually a human being. "Yale!"A Chinaman who had gone to Yale!

"Yes. Civil engineering. Mentally but not physically competent. Hadto give up the work and take to this. I'm not noble; so myhonourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. "

"Graves. " Spurlock pointed in the sloping fields outside the walls. "I've counted ten coffins so far. "

"Ah, yes. The land about these walls is a common graveyard. Everyday in the year you will witness such scenes. There are no funeralsamong the poor, only burials. And many of these deaths could beavoided if it were not for superstition. Superstition is theChinese Reaper. Rituals instead of medicines. Sometimes I try totalk. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. We must takethe children--of any race--if we would teach knowledge. Age is set, impervious to innovations. "

The Chinaman paused. He saw that his words were falling upon dullears. He turned to observe what this object was that had sounexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. It was the girl. She was standing before a window, against the background of therain-burdened April sky. There was enough contra-light to renderher ethereal. 

Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animateor inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. He wasalways word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singingadjectives; but often he built in confusion because it wasdifficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. 

He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered thesandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. Her facereminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled withblond wine. But there was something else; and in his befoggedmental state the comparison eluded him. 

Ruth broke the exquisite pose by summoning Ah Cum, who was luredinto a lecture upon the water-clock. This left Spurlock alone. 

He began munching his water-chestnuts--a small brown radish-shapedvegetable, with the flavour of coconut--that grow along the riverbrims. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, whichpresently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. This made theeleventh. There were no mourners. But what did the occupant of thebox care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of themuddle. 

From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the severalfive-story towers of the pawnshops. Celestial Uncles! Spurlockchuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set himto coughing violently. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced tolean against the window-jamb for support. 

"That young man had better watch his cough, " said SpinsterPrudence. "He acts queerly, too. "

"They always act like that after drink, " said Ruth, casually. 

She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediatelysensed that she had said too much. There was no way of recallingthe words; so she waited. 

"Miss Enschede--such an odd name!--are you French?"

"Oh, no. Pennsylvania Dutch. But I have never seen America. I wasborn on an island in the South Seas. I am on my way to an aunt wholives in Hartford, Connecticut. "

The spinsters nodded approvingly. Hartford had a very respectablesound. 

Ruth did not consider it necessary, however, to add that she hadnot notified this aunt of her coming, that she did not know whetherthe aunt still resided in Hartford or was underground. These twoelderly ladies would call her stark mad. Perhaps she was. 

"And you have seen . .. Drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full ofsuppressed horror. 

"Often. A very small settlement, mostly natives. There was atrader--a man who bought copra and pearls. Not a bad man as mengo, but he would sell whisky and gin. Over here men drink becausethey are lonely; and when they drink too hard and too long, theywind up on the beach. "

The spinsters stared at her blankly. 

Ruth went on to explain. "When a man reaches the lowest scalethrough drink, we call him a beachcomber. I suppose the phrase--theword--originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. It is queer, but men ofeducation and good birth fall swiftest and lowest. "

She sent a covert glance toward the young man. She alone of themall knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey tothe beach. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. He was allalone, like herself. 

"What are those odd-looking things on the roofs?" she asked of AhCum. 

"Pigs and fish, to fend off the visitations of the devil. " Ah Cumsmiled. "After all, I believe we Chinese have the right idea. Thedevil is on top, not below. We aren't between him and heaven; he isbetween us and heaven. "

The spinsters had no counter-philosophy to offer; so they turned toRuth, who had singularly and unconsciously invested herself withglamour, the glamour of adventure, which the old maids did notrecognize as such because they were only tourists. This child atonce alarmed and thrilled them. She had come across the wickedSouth Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seendrunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment asinnocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom ithad taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve. And there wasthat dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposedupon. 

"You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede, " said Sister Prudence;"but where in this world did you get that dress?"

Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. "Is there anything wrong with it?"

"Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. That dress isthirty years old, if a day. "

"Oh!" Ruth laughed softly. "That is easily explained. I haven'tmuch money; I don't know how much it is going to cost me to reachHartford; so I fixed over a couple of my mother's dresses. Itdoesn't look bad, does it?"

"Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. It was that somebody hadcheated you. "

The spinster did not ask if the mother lived; the question wasinconsequent. No mother would have sent her daughter into the worldwith such a wardrobe. Straitened circumstances would not havemattered; a mother would have managed somehow. In the '80s such adress would have indicated considerable financial means; under thesun-helmet it was an anachronism; and yet it served only to add aquainter charm to the girl's beauty. 

"Do you know what you make me think of?"

"What?"

"As if you had stepped out of some old family album. "

The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had everoccurred in her life to tingle them into action. She was dressed asa white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied herinstincts. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters'camp. 

"What is a family album?"

"You poor child, do you mean to tell me you've never seen a familyalbum? Why, it's a book filled with the photographs of yourgrandmothers and grandfathers, your aunts and uncles and cousins, your mother and father when they were little. "

Ruth stood with drawn brows; she was trying to recall. "No; wenever had one; at least, I never saw it. "

The lack of a family album for some reason put a little ache in herheart. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts . .. Tolove and to coddle lonely little girls. 

"You poor child!" said Prudence. 

"Then I am old-fashioned. Is that it? I thought this very pretty. "

"So it is, child. But one changes the style of one's clothesyearly. Of course, this does not apply to uninteresting old maids, "Prudence modified with a dry little smile. 

"But this is good enough to travel in, isn't it?"

"To be sure it is. When you reach San Francisco, you can buysomething more appropriate. " It occurred to the spinster to ask:"Have you ever seen a fashion magazine?"

"No. Sometimes we had the _Illustrated London News_ and _Tit-Bits. _Sailors would leave them at the trader's. "

"Alice in Wonderland!" cried Prudence, perhaps a little enviously. 

"Oh, I've read that!"

Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation;but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrasehad been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend ofhis own unhappy thoughts. Out of an old family album: here was thevery comparison that had eluded him. His literary instincts beganto stir. A South Sea island girl, and this was her first adventureinto civilization. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story;but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. 

Other phrases returned now, like echoes. The beachcomber, thelowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into thisestate. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundreddollars. 

But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arriveon the beach. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrillironically the story of his coat--to take it off and fling it atthe feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. 

"Look at it!" he felt like screaming. "Clean and spotless, butbeginning to show the wear and tear of constant use. I have worn itfor weeks and weeks. I have slept with it under my pillow. Observeit--a blue-serge coat. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Likeenough. But did you ever hear of a djinn in a blue-serge coat?_Stitched_ in!"

Something like this was always rushing into his throat; and he hadto sink his nails into his palms to stop his mouth. Veryfascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. It was not anaffair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence anddefiance. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presagedillness. To be ill and helpless. 

He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. He hated horizons. He was always visualizing the Hand whenever helet his gaze rest upon the horizon. An enormous Hand that rose upswiftly, blotting out the sky. A Hand that strove to reach hisshoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. The scrutiny of anystrange man provoked a sweaty terror. What a God-forsaken fool hewas! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas--the beach!

Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with thisfascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and havedone. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl(who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referredto it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it wasprofoundly sad. 

The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the whiteman's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothingindifference which comes with the final disintegration of thefibres of conscience. He had an objective now. 

CHAPTER IV

The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. They weresilent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by thetedious action of the chairs. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Orientalshell of reserve. To reach the Sha-mien--and particularly the HotelVictoria--one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rockingsampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women andchildren in varied shades of faded blue cotton. At sunset theswarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closertogether, with the quiet of water-fowl. There is everywhere atnight in China the original fear of darkness. 

From the portals of the hotel--scarcely fifty yards from thecanal--one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Blankit was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. Into this hole in thewall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. The silence of Canton at nightwas sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob mightsuddenly boil out. 

No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mienafter sunset without a license. To simplify matters, he carried acoloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted inArabic numerals. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-miennight to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither andyon like June fireflies in a meadow. 

Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was beingserved. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. 

"But she is a dear, " said Angelina, timidly. 

"I'll admit that. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. She leaves me almost without comparisons. She is like somecharacter out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirtyyears and just been excavated. That's the way she strikes me. Andit's uncanny. "

"But I never saw anybody more alive. "

"Who wouldn't be lively after thirty years' sleep? Did you hear herexplain about beachcombers? And yet she looks at one with thestraightest glance I ever saw. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept myinvitation to join us. I shouldn't care to have attentionconstantly drawn to us. This world over here! Everything'supside-down or back-end-to. Humph!"

"What's the matter?"

"Sh!"

Spurlock passed by on the way to the bar. Apparently he did not seehis recent companions. There was a strained, eager expression onhis face. 

"Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner, " was the commentof Prudence. 

"The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. 

"Pah! He's a fool. I never saw a man who wasn't. "

"There was Father, " suggested Angelina gently. 

"Ninny! What did we know about Father, except when he was aroundthe house? But where is the girl? She said something about havingtea with us. I want to know more about her. I wonder if she has anyidea how oddly beautiful she is?"

Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder. Shewas posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. What was the matter with the dress? Shecould not see. For the past four weeks mirrors had been herdelight, a new toy. Here was one that subtly mocked her. 

Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Each human contact leaves some indelible mark. The spinsters--whoon the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever--hadalready left their imprint upon her imagination. Clothes. Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note thehang of their skirts. 

Around her neck was a little gold chain. She gathered up the chain, revealing a locket which had lain hidden in her bosom. The locketcontained the face of her mother--all the family album she had. Shestudied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in thedress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. Very well. To-morrow, when she returned to Hong-Kong, she would purchase asimple but modern dress. Anything that drew attention to her must beavoided. 

She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. It was preciousfor two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whomshe could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt inHartford. 

She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Oh, the beautiful books!Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in herarms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. Lovestories! It was of negligible importance that these books werebound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. All these wonderfulcomrades, henceforth and for ever hers. She would never again belonely. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, TheLast Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun . .. Love stories!

Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel. Pilgrim's Progress, The Life of Martin Luther and Alice inWonderland (the only fairy-story she had been permitted to read)were the sum total of her library. But in the appendix of thedictionary she had discovered magic names--Hugo, Dumas, Thackeray, Hawthorne, Lytton. She had also discovered the names of Grimm andAndersen; but at that time she had not been able to visualize "thepale slender things with gossamer wings"--fairies. The world intowhich she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, butnever so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. AlreadyCosette was her chosen friend. Daily contact with actual humanbeings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. 

Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her bodybegan to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about theroom. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of woodentom-toms. 

Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at theside of the bed. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limpblack leather--the Holy Bible. 

Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. She stoodwithout motion and without strength. The books slid from her armsand fluttered to the floor. Presently repellance grew under thefrozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. 

"No!" she cried. "No, no!"

With a gesture, fierce and intolerant, she seized the Bible andthrust it out of sight, into the drawer. Then, her body still tensewith the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed androcked from side to side. But shortly this movement ceased. Therecollection of the forlorn and loveless years--stirred intoconsciousness by the unexpected confrontation--bent her as the highwind bends the water-reed. 

"My father!" she whispered. "My own father!"

Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and thereintervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she livedwould ever be recurring. She saw the moonlit waters, the blackshadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of thebellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping ofthe outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling awayfrom the sides--and the beating of her heart. The flight. 

How she had fought her eagerness in the beginning, lest it revealher ignorance of the marvels of mankind! The terror and ecstasy ofthat night in Singapore--the first city she had ever seen! Therewas still the impression that something akin to a miracle hadpiloted her successfully from one ordeal to another. 

The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways ofcaravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. Almost atonce she had comprehended that she was expected to write down hername and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn. Theaddress was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, aninfinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. 

She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly thebattered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. In Europe or in Americapeople would have smiled; but in Singapore--the half-way port ofthe world--where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east andwest, no one had remarked her. 

She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the greatdining room. She could have dined alone in her room; but couragehad demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. Everyeye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensationto be the conceit of her imagination. 

The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of thewomen had disturbed and distressed her. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were ina special catagory of the damned. Almost instantly she hadrecognized the fallacy of such a statement. These women could notbe bad, else the hotel would not have permitted them to enter!Still, the scene presented a riddle: to give immunity to the blackwomen who went about all but naked and to damn the white forexposing their shoulders!

She had eaten but little; all her hunger had been in her eyes--andin her heart. Loneliness--something that was almost physical: as ifthe vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Thelonging to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her roomwithout giving in to the craving. 

Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness haddropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from themountain in the morning. Even then she had understood vaguely thatshe had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was neverlonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. 

Another picture slid across her vision. She saw herself begin aslow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native--thesame dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She had falleninto it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had everseen or known, and that a stolen sweet. That was odd: when youngpeople were joyous, they had to express it physically. But native!She must watch out. 

She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock inthe morning. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and hadwatched and listened until the night silences had lengthened andonly occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshawwheels in the courtyard. 

The great ordeal--that which she had most dreaded--had proved to beno ordeal at all. The kindly American consul-general had himselftaken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for aletter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. Everything had sofar come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold. 

"The Golden One knows that I have seen the world; therefore followmy instructions. Never glance sideways at man. Nothing elsematters. "

The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. That wasthe glorious if bewildering truth. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. The misty caravans of which shehad dreamed were become actualities. She had but to choose. Allabout her, hither and yon, lay the enticing Unknown. Romance! Theromance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words tothe far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelledships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books!

She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the booksto her heart. 

CHAPTER V

At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, aninvitation she accepted gratefully. She was not afraid exactly, butthere was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Detached, it was not impossible that she would be forced to leavethe dining room because of invading tears. To be near someone, evensomeone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, herown intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. The worldhad grown dark and wide, and she was very small. Doubts began torise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Could she gothrough with it? She must. She would never, never go back. 

As usual the substantive sister--Prudence--did all the talking forthe pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when thegesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her asharp glance of disapproval. Angelina's distress over thesemischances was pathetic. 

None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed nodeveloping. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itselfone of those human miracles which metaphysicians are alwayspothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previousenvironment had been particularly humourless. But if she smiled atall it was with her eyes. To-night she could have hugged both theold maids. 

"Somebody ought to get hold of that young man, " said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. "Look at him!"

Ruth looked. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down heshuddered. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Hemeasured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in hishand. His food lay untouched about his plate. There was no disgustin Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitifulunderstand. 

"I'm sorry, " she said. 

"I have no sympathy, " replied Prudence, "with a man whodeliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. "

"You would, if you had seen what I have. Men in this part of theworld drink to forget the things they have lost. "

"And what should a young man like this one have to forget?"Prudence demanded to know. 

"I wonder, " said Ruth. "Couldn't you speak to him?"

"What?--and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!"

"That is it. You complain of a condition, but you leave thecorrection to someone else. "

The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. This child wasfrequently disconcerting. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. 

"If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. "

"Where did you go to school?" Prudence asked, seeking a newchannel, for the old one appeared to be full of hidden reefs. 

"I never went to school. "

"But you are educated!"--astonished. 

"That depends upon what you call educated. Still, my tutor was ahighly educated scholar--my father. " Neither spinster noticed thereluctance in the tones. 

"Ah! I see. He suddenly realized that he could not keep you forever in this part of the world; so he sends you to your aunt. Thatdress! Only a man--and an unworldly one--would have permitted youto proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out ofdate. What is your father's business?"

The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. 

"Souls, " she answered, drily. 

"A missioner! That illuminates everything. " The spinster's faceactually became warm. "You will finish your education in the Eastand return. I see. "

"No. I shall never come back. "

Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned thespinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received aset-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only anotherphase of the mystery which enveloped the child. A sinister thoughtedged in. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been afashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him andforced him down, step by step, until--to use the child's oddexpression--he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, thisspinster. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. Clergymen were human. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect thatone had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to hissister. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen onthat island of hers!

The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turnedgratefully toward the sound. 

The young man had knocked over the siphon. He rose, steadiedhimself, then walked out of the dining room. Except for the dulleyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else toindicate that he was deep in liquor. He did not stagger in theleast. And in this fact lay his danger. The man who staggers, whoseface is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly ortruculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. But men ofthe Spurlock type, who walk straight, who are unobtrusive andintensely pale, they break swiftly and inexplicably. They seldomarrive on the beach. There are way-stations--even terminals. 

There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. Perhapsit was loneliness. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and waswandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. But he would die ifhe continued in this course. They were alike in one phase--lovelessand lonely. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or ifshe died, who would care?

A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him tosee the folly of trying to forget. Of what use was the temporaryset-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubledpoignancy?

Then came another thought, astonishing. This was the first youngman who had drawn from her something more than speculativeinterest. True, on board the ships she had watched young men fromafar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in thepresence of any new species. But after Singapore she found herselfenduing them with the characteristics of the heroes in the novelsshe had just read for the first time. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never anyvillains. It wasn't worth while to invest imaginatively a man withevil projects simply because he was physically ugly. 

Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but therewas another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. Why?Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she couldremember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision--Sidney Carton. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fineend. 

Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another SidneyCarton. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might notlikewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. To find theincentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking theway. But always this new phase in life which civilization calledconvention threw up barrier after barrier. 

She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; sheknew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. Hadshe not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grinsin their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his senseof chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must presentsome irresistible project. She recalled that day of the typhoon andthe sloop crashing on the outer reefs. The heroism of two beachcombers had saved all on board and their own manhood as well. 

"Are you returning to Hong-Kong to-morrow by the day boat?"

For a moment Ruth was astonished at the sound of the spinster'svoice. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture ofthe typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terriblerollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of thewind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the nativehuts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those twooutcasts defying the elements. 

"I don't know, " she answered vaguely. 

"But there's nothing more to see in Canton. "

"Perhaps I'm too tired to plan for to-morrow. Those awful chairs!"

After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomedquota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. She walkedthrough the office to the door, aimlessly. 

Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. One of the cooliesheld the paper lantern. Near by stood Ah Cum and the young unknown, the former protesting gently, the latter insistent upon hisdemands. 

"I repeat, " said Ah Cum, "that the venture is not propitious. Canton is all China at night. If we were set upon I could notdefend you. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play foryou. "

"No. I want to make my own selection. "

"Very well, sir. But if you have considerable money, you had betterleave it in the office safe. You can pay me when we return. Thesing-song girls in Hong-Kong are far handsomer. That is a part ofthe show in Hong-Kong. But here it is China. "

"If you will not take me, I'll find some guide who will. "

"I will take you. I simply warn you. "

Spurlock entered the office, passed Ruth without observing her (orif he did observe her, failed to recognize her), and deposited hisfunds with the manager. 

"I advise you against this trip, Mr. Taber, " said the manager. "Affairs are not normal in Canton at present. Only a few weeks agothere was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldieryand the local police. Look at these walls. "

The walls were covered with racks of loaded rifles. In thoserevolutionary times one had to be prepared. Some Chinaman mighttake it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" Andout of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and suddendeath. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. 

Taber. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. That didnot sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower ofthe water-clock. She remained by the door until the walls of thecity swallowed the bobbing lantern. Then she went into the office. 

"What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. 

The manager twisted his moustache. "The same as a Japanese geishagirl. "

"And what is a geisha girl?"

Not to have heard of the geisha! It was as if she had asked: "Whatis Paris?" What manner of tourist was this who had heard neither ofthe geisha of Japan nor of the sing-song girl of China? Before hecould marshal the necessary phrases to explain, Ruth herselfindicated her thought. 

"A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put anyquestion--level-eyed and level-toned. 

After a series of mental gymnastics--occupying the space of a fewseconds--it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimenof the species. At the same time he comprehended that she was aspure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did notcarry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. He could talk toher as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not takeoffence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that shewould be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye. All her questions would have as a background the idea of futuredefence. 

"The geisha and the sing-song girl are professional entertainers. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has thatmisconception of them. If some of them are bad in the sense youmean, it is because there are bad folks in all walks of life. Theysell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls ofthe street. "

The phrase was new, but Ruth nodded understandingly. 

"Still, " went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they arebought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. A fatheris in debt, we'll say. He sells his daughter to a geisha or asing-song master, and the girl is rented out until the debt is paid. Then the work is optional; they go on their own. There are sing-songgirls in Hong-Kong and Shanghai who are famous and wealthy. Sometimes they marry well. If they become bad it is throughinclination, not necessity. "

Again Ruth nodded. 

"To go a little further. Morality is a point of view. It is anOccidental point of view. The Oriental has no equivalent. What youwould look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no moreado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerkin a shop. "

"That is what I wanted to know, " said Ruth gravely. "The poorthings!"

The manager laughed. "Your sympathy is being wasted. They are theonly happy women in the Orient. "

"Do you suppose he knew?"

"He? Oh, you mean Mr. Taber?" He wondered if this crystal being wasinterested in that blundering fool who had gone recklessly into thecity. "I don't know what his idea was. "

"Will there be any danger?"

"To Mr. Taber? There is a possibility. Canton at night is as muchChina as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. A white man takes his lifein his hands. But Ah Cum is widely known for his luck. Besides, " headded cynically, "it is said that God watches over fools anddrunken men. "

This expression was old in Ruth's ears. She had heard the traderutter it many times. 

"Thank you, " she said, and left the office. 

The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, andreturned to his ledgers. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), themellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, allcombined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had evermet. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known thenatural and pardonable simper of youth. 

Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones overthere in the city? They had come up on the same boat. Still, onenever could tell. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way asthe girl was in hers. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistencethat was sinister. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning ofthe word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. Supposing AhCum's luck failed for once?

The manager made a gesture of dismissal, and added up the bill forthe Misses Jedson, who were returning to Hong-Kong in the morning. 

CHAPTER VI

Sidney Carton, thought Ruth, in pursuit of a sing-song girl! Theidea was so incongruous that a cold little smile parted her lips. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. Still, she knew instinctively thatall of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! Ashudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. 

She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floorwith her chin resting upon the window-sill. Even the stars werestrangers. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily infancy? Disillusion everywhere. The spinsters were not kind; theywere only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty yearsout of date. Later, when they returned home, she would serve as thetopic of many conversations. Everybody looked askance at everybodyelse. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged intoanother, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. 

She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magicblue horizon. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. And inthese crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizonswere lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomeswere lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmillof to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had pluckeda bitter truth--she was alone. 

She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grewwarm and wet with tears. She wanted to stay where she was; buttears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she wouldbecome defensively. She rose briskly, turned on the light, andopened Les Misérables to the episode of the dark forest: where JeanValjean reaches out and takes Cosette's frightful pail from herchapped little hands. 

There must be persons tender and loving in this world. There mustbe real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them?Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, whocould make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one withlove and anger and tenderness?

Most of us have witnessed carnivals. Here are all our harlequinsand columbines of the spoken and written drama. They flash to andfro, they thrill us with expectancy. Then, presto! What a drearylot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley!

Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. The world had not passedby but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. Many thingswere only words, sounds; she could not construct these words andsounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. Her education was remarkable in that it was overdeveloped here andunderdeveloped there: the woman of thirty and the child of ten werealways getting in each other's way. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths. And now she wasdiscovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with hermirages and her horizons. 

At the present moment she was living in a world of her owncreation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out ofthe tales she had so newly read for the first time. She could notresist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of thefictional characters. We all did that in our youth, when first wecame upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smithwas John Smith and nobody else. 

Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Cosettesat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Dolls. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. She had neverhad a real doll. Instinct had forced her to create something out ofrags to satisfy a mysterious craving. But a doll that rolled itseyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour--there hadbeen natives to fetch and carry--she and Cosette were sisters inloneliness. 

Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. A bobbinglantern, crossing the bridge--for she had not drawn thecurtain--attracted her attention. She turned off the light andapproached the window. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. Taber returning. Evidently Ah Cum's luck had held good. 

As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and shediscovered five persons instead of four. She remembered Taber'shat. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walkingbeside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. Shecould not see clearly. All at once her heart began to patterqueerly. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel!

The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession ofRuth's thoughts. She fought the inclination for a while, thensurrendered. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do wasto pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. 

Mirrors. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been thestill pools in the rocks after the ebb. She had never been able todiscover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. 

When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to herstartled gaze. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beatingher forehead upon the floor and wailing: _Ai, ai! Ai, ai!_Spurlock--or Taber, as he called himself--sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in theconfusion for which he was primarily accountable. The hotel managerwas expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressiveshrugs. 

"What has happened?" Ruth asked. 

"A drunken idea, " said Ah Cum, taking his hands out of his sleeves. "I could not make him understand. "

"She cannot stay here, " the manager declared. 

"Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. 

Ah Cum explained. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. Mr. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. He insisted onbuying this girl for two hundred mex. He now tells her that she isfree, no longer a slave. She doesn't understand; she believes hehas taken a sudden dislike to her. Free, there is nothing left toher but the canal. Until two hours ago she was as contented and ashappy as a linnet. If she returns to the house from which we tookher, her companions will laugh at her and smother her withridicule. On this side of the canal she has no place to go. Herpeople live in Heng-Chow, in the Hu-nan province. It is all verycomplex. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with anEastern custom. "

"But why didn't you oppose him?"

"I had to let him have his way, else he might not have returnedsafely. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. "

The object of this discussion sat motionless. The voices went intohis ears but left no impression of their import. There was, infact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reachedthe hotel without falling down. 

The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began tochatter rapidly. Ruth made a little gesture, of infinite pity; andthis was quickly seized upon by the slant-eyed Chinese girl. Shecrawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman whounderstood. 

"What is she saying to me?"

Ah Cum shrugged. 

Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by thecoursing tears. "But she is saying something to me! What is it?"

The hotel manager, who spoke Cantonese with facility, interpreted. He knew that he could translate literally. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she findsherself. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as theResplendent Moonbeam. "

"Just to give her her freedom?" said Ruth, turning to Ah Cum. 

"Precisely. The chair is in the veranda. I will take her back. Butof course the money will not be refunded. 

"Then take her back, " said the manager. "You knew better than tobring her here under the circumstances. "

"Well, " said Ah Cum, amiably, "when I argued against the venture, he threatened to go wandering about alone, I was most concerned inbringing him back unhurt. "

He then spoke authoritatively to the girl. He appeared to thunderdire happenings if she did not obey him without further ado. Hepicked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The sing-song girl roseand meekly pattered out of the office into the night. 

Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put ahand on his shoulder. 

"I understand, " she said. Her faith in human beings revived. "Youtried to do something that was fine, and . .. And civilization wouldnot let you. "

Spurlock turned his dull eyes and tried to focus hers. Suddenly heburst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly somethingstrangled the sound in his throat. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he layvery still. 

CHAPTER VII

The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of shortduration. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. Witha gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, themanager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gavethe room number. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried itto the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. 

"A doctor at once!" cried Ruth excitedly. 

"A doctor? What he needs is a good jolt of aromatic spirits ofammonia. I can get that at the bar, " the manager said, curtly. Hewas not particularly grateful for the present situation. 

"I warn you, if you do not send for a doctor immediately, you willhave cause to regret it, " Ruth declared vigorously. "Something morethan whisky did that. Why did you let him have it?"

"Let him have it? I can't stand at the elbow of any of the guestsand regulate his or her actions. So long as a man behaves himself, I can't refuse him liquor. But I'll call a doctor, since you orderit. You'll be wasting his time. It is a plain case of alcoholicstupor. I've seen many cases like it. "

He summoned another "boy" and rumbled some Cantonese. Immediatelythe "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as heran--warning to clear the way. 

"Have the aromatic spirits of ammonia sent to Mr. Taber's room atonce, " Ruth ordered. "I will administer it. "

"You, Miss Enschede?"--frankly astonished that one stranger shouldoffer succour to another. 

"There is nobody else. Someone ought to be with him until thedoctor arrives. He may die. "

The manager made a negative sign. "Your worry is needless. "

"It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. It was his heart. I once saw a man die after collapsing that way. "

"You once saw a man die that way?" the manager echoed, his recentpuzzlement returning full tide. Hartford, Connecticut; she hadregistered that address; but there was something so mystifyinglyOriental about her that the address only thickened the haze behindwhich she moved. "Where?"

"That can wait, " she answered. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruthturned away abruptly. 

Above she found the two Chinamen squatted at the side of the door. They rose as she approached. She hastened past. She immediatelytook the pillows from under the head of the man who had two names, released the collar and tie, and arranged the arms alongside thebody. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominousintermissions. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived ordied. 

She was now permitted freely to study the face. The comparisonsupon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed withreality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of thesailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. For the face underher gaze she could find but one expression--fine. The shape of thehead, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she hadnever before looked upon closely. 

She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth andunlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelibletouch. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gaveher this impression. What reassured her, however, more thananything else, was the shape of the mouth: it was warmly turned. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; itbecomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. It was not inevidence here, not a sign of it. 

A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. And yet it was basically afine action. To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl!For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave ofcustom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled theidea. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimlyperceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initialbarrier? A drunken idea--a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him!

Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own firstutterance of the word. Why wasn't the world full of love, when lovemade happiness? Why did people hide their natural kindliness as ifit were something shameful? Why shouldn't people say what theythought and act as they were inclined? Why all this pother aboutwhat one's neighbour thought, when this pother was not energized byany good will? Why was truth avoided as the plague? Why did thisyoung man have one name on the hotel register and another on hislips? Why was she bothering about him at all? Why should there bethis inexplicable compassion, when the normal sensation should havebeen repellance? Sidney Carton. Was that it? Had she clothed thisunhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone?She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what reallyactuated her. 

Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; andit might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness ifhe found a woman at his bedside. More than this, it would serve tomitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily withhis. 

She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action wasin a precarious state. So far he had not stirred; from hisbloodless lips had come no sound. 

At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeededin getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down thepatient's throat. But nothing followed to indicate that the liquidhad stimulated the heart. 

"You see?" Ruth said. 

The manager conceded that he saw, that his original diagnosis wasat fault. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what wouldfollow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, pokingauthorities, British and American red tape. It would send businesselsewhere; and the hotel business in Canton was never so prosperousthat one could afford to lose a single guest. Clientèle was of themost transitory character. 

And then, there would be the question of money. Would there beenough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotelbill--and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home?So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting thisyoung fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon hisjourney. Good riddance to bad rubbish. 

An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful. 

"He is dying?" whispered Ruth. 

"Well, without immediate care he would have passed out. He's on theragged edge. It depends upon what he was before he began thisracket. Drink, and no sustaining food. But while there's lifethere's hope. There isn't a nurse this side of Hong-Kong to be had. I've only a Chinaman who is studying under me; but he's a goodsport and will help us out during the crisis. This chap's recoveryall depends upon the care he receives. "

Out of nowhere Ruth heard her voice saying: "I will see to that. "

"Your husband?"

"No. I do not even know his name. "

The doctor sent her a sharp, quizzical glance. He could not quitemake her out; a new type. 

"Taber, " said the manager; "Taber is the name. "

For some reason she did not then understand, Ruth did not offer theinformation that Taber had another name. 

"This is very fine of you, Miss. .. . "

"Enschede. "

"Ah. Well, come back in half an hour. I'll send for Wu Fang. Hespeaks English. Not a job he may care about; but he's a good sport. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow backfrom the brink. Run along now; but return in half an hour. "

The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but withalert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. He smiled at Ruth as she turnedaway from the bed, smiled with both his mouth and eyes; and sheknew that here would be a man of heart as well as of science. Shewent out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos. 

"What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. "We've heard coming andgoing. "

"Mr. Taber is very ill. "

"Oh. " Prudence shrugged. "Well, what can you expect, guzzlingpoison like that? Are you returning with us to Hong-Kong in themorning?"

"No. I am going to help take care of him, " said Ruth, quiteordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was anordinary event in her life. 

"What?--help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, MissEnschede!" was the protest. 

"Why can't I?"

"You will be compromised. It isn't as if he were stricken withtyphoid or pneumonia or something like that. You will certainly becompromised. "

"Compromised. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of aquery, but ruminantly. "Mutual concessions, " she added. "I don'tquite understand the application. "

Sister Prudence looked at Sister Angelina, who understood what wasexpected of her. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say thatsuch ignorance was beyond her. 

"Why, it means that people will think evilly of you. "

"For a bit of kindness?" Ruth was plainly bewildered. 

"You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. "I neversaw the like of you! One has to guard one's actions constantly inthis wicked world, if one is a woman, young and pretty. A womansuch as I am might help take care of Mr. Taber and no one commentupon it. But you couldn't. Never in this world! Let the hotelpeople take care of him; it's their affair. They sold him thewhisky. Come along with us in the morning. Your father. .. . "

Prudence felt the hands stiffen oddly; and again the thought cameto her that perhaps this poor child's father had once been, perhapsstill was, in the same category as this Taber. 

"It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it. Even if he werean old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. But a total stranger, a man you never saw twenty-four hours ago! It can't be thought of. It isn't your duty. "

"I feel bewildered, " said Ruth. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender togood impulses?"

"In the present instance, yes. Can't I make you understand? Perhapsit sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be crueldefensively. You don't want people to snub you later. This isn'tyour island, child; it's the great world. "

"So I perceive, " said Ruth, withdrawing her hands. "He is allalone. Without care he will die. "

"But, goodness me, the hotel will take care of him! Why not? Theysold him the poison. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so verysick. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all overagain. You're alone, too, child. I'm trying to make you see theworldly point of view, which always inclines toward the evil sideof things. "

"I have promised. After all, why should I care what strangersthink?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. "Is there no charity? Isn't itunderstood?"

"Of course it is! In the present instance I can offer it and youcan't, or shouldn't. There are unwritten laws governing humanconduct. Who invented them? Nobody knows. But woe to those whodisregard them! Of course, basically it is all wrong; and sometimesGod must laugh at our ideas of rectitude. But to live at peace withyour neighbour. .. . "

Ruth brushed her eyes with one hand and with the other signed forthe spinster to stop. "No more, please! I am bewildered enough. Iunderstand nothing of what you say. I only know that it is right todo what I do. "

"Well, " said Sister Prudence, "remember, I tried to save you somefuture heartaches. God bless you, anyhow!" she added, with aspontaneity which surprised Sister Angelina into uttering anindividual gasp. "Good-bye!"

For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the witheredbosom; but long since she had learned repression. She remainedstonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shutthem from view . .. For ever. 

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Corporation. The Ragged Edge. _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. ]

CHAPTER VIII

Slowly Ruth entered her own room. She opened her suitcase--new andsmelling strongly of leather--and took out of it a book, dogearedand precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth andbearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. Herein was the sumof human knowledge in essence. 

In the beginning it was a dictionary. Words were given with theiroriginal meaning, without their ramifications. If you were a poetin need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Or, ifyou were about to embark upon a nautical career, here was all theinformation required. It also told you how to write on alloccasions, how to take out a patent, how to doctor a horse, and whoAchates was. You could, if you were ambitious to round out youreducation, memorize certain popular foreign phrases. 

But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions aremade, " the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall atnight. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, withreversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite. Tobe sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the firsttime she was made painfully conscious of it. Mutual concessions!--andthen to turn it around so that it suggested that an act of kindnessmight be interpreted as moral obloquy!

Walls; queer, invisible walls that receded whenever she reachedout, but that still remained between her and what she sought. Thewall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind whicheach human being hid--the wall behind which she herself was hiding!If only her mother had lived, her darling mother!

Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glowbegan to lighten it. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led herinto the young man's room. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. Upon what thisinstinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of itsinsistence. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discardsthe rag baby for the living one. Spurlock was no longer a manbefore this instinct; he was a child in trouble. 

Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. The visitorwas the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctorwas ready for her. So Ruth took another step toward herdestination, which we in our vanity call destiny. 

"Will he live?" asked Ruth. 

"Thanks to you, " said the doctor. "Without proper medical care, hewould have been dead by morning. " He smiled at her as he smiled atdeath, cheerfully. 

The doctor's smile is singular; there is no other smile thatreaches the same level. It is the immediate inspiration ofconfidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile thatpain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against ourdepressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we stillhave a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal. 

In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't itthe tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going tohappen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought ofannihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea ofentering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his pettyaffairs as usual?

"It's nip and tuck, " said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. If he hadeaten food, this wouldn't have happened. It is not a dissipatedface. "

"No; it is only--what shall I say?--troubled. The ragged edge. "

"Yes. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. It is thebottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle. But thischap is good wine yet. We'll have him on his way before many days. But . .. He must want to live in order that the inclination torepeat this incident may not recur. The manager tells me that youare an American. So am I. For ten years I've been trying to gohome, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. Itdrives one mad at times. Superstition--you knock into it whicheverway you turn. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and whenmy back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burnsjoss-sticks. I hate this part of the world. "

"So do I, " replied Ruth. 

"You have lived over here?"--astonished. 

"I was born in the South Seas and I am on my way to America, to anaunt. "

"Well, it's mighty fine of you to break your journey in thisfashion--for someone you don't know, a passer-by. "

He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. Themanager had sketched the girl's character, or rather hadinterpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner. "You will find her new. " New? That did not describe her. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come intocontact--a natural woman. She would be extraordinarily interestingas a metaphysical study. She would be surrendering to all herimpulses--particularly the good impulses--many of which society hadcondemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconveniencefor a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got onhis feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much asThank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend theingratitude. To such characters, fine actions are in themselvessufficient. 

Perhaps her odd beauty--and that too was natural--stirred thesethoughts into being. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excitethe cynical commentary which men applied to certain types ofblondes. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silverunnoticeably. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of ayellow pearl. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. Not theexplosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietlymeet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. 

All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand andjotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. He had absorbed herin a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. After awhile he spoke again. 

"Our talking will not bother him. He will be some time in thiscomatose state. Later, there will be fever, after I've got hisheart pumping. Now, he must have folks somewhere. I'm going throughhis pockets. It's only right that his people should know where heis and what has happened to him. "

But he searched in vain. Aside from some loose coin and a trunkkey, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter ofcredit, not even a tailor's label. Immediately he grasped the factthat there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk, " he said. "There'snothing in his clothes. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't acase to fiddle-faddle over. Will you stand by and watch me?"

The contents of the trunk only thickened the fog. Here again theclothes were minus the labels. All the linen was new and stampedwith the mark of Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co. , British merchants withbranches all over the East. At the bottom of the trunk was a largemanila envelope, unmarked. The doctor drew out the contentshopefully. 

"By George!" he exclaimed. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is awriter, or is trying to be. And will you look! His name neatly cutout from each title page. This is clear over my head. "

"A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. And yet the secondary emotionwas one of suspicion. That a longing of hers should be realized inthis strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggestedsomething of a trap. 

"Or trying to be, " answered the doctor. "Evidently he could notdestroy these children of his. No doubt they've all been rejected;but he couldn't throw them overboard. I suspect he has a bit ofvanity. I'll tell you what. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow youcan read them through. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to hisidentity. To-morrow I'll wire Cook's and the American Express inHong-Kong to see if there is any mail. Taber is the name. What ishe--English or American?"

"American. What is a Yale man?"

"Did he say he was a Yale man?"

"He and Ah Cum were talking. .. . "

"I see. Ah Cum is a Yale man and so is this Taber. "

"But what is it?"

"An American university. Now, I'll be getting along. Give him hismedicine every half hour. Keep his arms down. I'll have my man Wuover here as soon as I can get in touch with him. We'll get thischap on his feet if only to learn what the trouble is. "

Downstairs he sought the hotel manager. 

"Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. 

"Hope to. The next few hours will tell. But it's an odd case. Hisname is Taber?"

"Howard Taber. "

"Confidentially, I'm assured that he has another. "

"What gives you that idea?"

"Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels inhis clothes--not a single clew to his real identity. And stonybroke. "

"Not quite, " replied the manager. "He left an envelope with somemoney in it. Perhaps I'd better open it now. " The envelopecontained exactly five hundred dollars. "How long will he be laidup?"

"Three or four weeks, if he doesn't peg out during the night. "

The manager began some computations. "There won't be much left foryou, " he said. 

"That's usual. There never is much left for me. But I'm notworrying about that. The thing is to get the patient on his feet. He may have resources of which we know nothing, " the doctor addedoptimistically. 

"But, I say, that girl is a queer one. "

"I shouldn't call her queer. She's fine. She'll be mightyinteresting to watch. "

"For an old bachelor?"

"A human old bachelor. Has she any funds?"

"She must have. She's headed for America. Of course, I don'tbelieve she's what you would call flush. But I'll take care of herbill, if worst comes to worst. Evidently her foresight has saved mea funeral. I'll remember that. But "fine" is the word. How thedeuce, though, am I going to account for her? People will be askingquestions when they see her; and if I tell the truth, they'll startto snubbing her. You understand what I mean. I don't want her hurt. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. "

"I hadn't thought of that. It wouldn't do to say that she was fromthe hospital. She's too pretty and unusual. Besides, I'm afraid hersimple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. When anybody isnatural, these days, we dub them queer. The contact is disturbing;and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. Aren't we funny?And just as I was beginning to lose faith in human beings, to havesomeone like this come along! It is almost as if she were acting arôle, and she isn't. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won'tunderstand what I'm driving at. Born on a South Sea island, shesaid. "

"Ah! Now I can get a perspective. This is her first adventure. Sheisn't used to cities. "

"But how in the Lord's name was she brought up? There's a queerstory back of this somewhere. "

The manager extended his hands at large, as if to deny anyresponsibility in the affair. "Never heard of a sing-song girl;never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girlcalled her that. "

"The White Hollyhock would fit her better. There is somethingsensual in the thought of lotus flowers. Hollyhocks make one thinkof a bright June Sunday and the way to church!"

"Do you suppose that young fool has done anything?"

The doctor shrugged. "I don't know. I shouldn't care to express anopinion. I ought to stay the night through; but I'm late now for anoperation at the hospital. Good night. "

He departed, musing. How plainly he could see the patch of gardenin the summer sunshine and the white hollyhocks nodding above thepicket fence!

 * * * * *

Ruth sat waiting for the half hour, subconsciously. Her thoughtswere busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if onlyfor a little while. In all her life no living thing had had todepend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. All other things werewithout weight or consequence before the fact that this poor youngman would have to depend upon her for his life. The amazing tonicof the thought!

From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: itwas still cold. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptiblenow. 

From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be noless interesting because he was unsuccessful. Stories . .. Lovestories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! Itwas almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. It filled herwith indefinable fear. Until now none of her prayers had ever beenanswered. Why should God give particular attention to such aprayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trapsomewhere. 

So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumblingthoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters ofthe Pearl River. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of hisnarrow bunk. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed atthe corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait ofa youth of eighteen. 

The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. The blue jawssuggested courage and tenacity. It was not a hard face, but it wasresolute. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle cameinto his eyes. 

Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle inthe haystack would have been soft work. To stumble upon the trailthrough the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so hisbottle had rendered him conspicuous. And now, only twenty-fourhours behind him . .. That is, if he wasn't paddling by on thereturn route to Hong-Kong or had dropped down to Macao. But thatpossibility had been anticipated. He would have to return toHong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set footon the Praya. 

Pure luck! But for that bottle of whisky, nobody in the Hong-KongHotel would have been able to identify the photograph; and at thishour James Boyle O'Higgins would have been on the way to Yokohama, and the trail lost for ever. 

Ho-hum!

CHAPTER IX

The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. Ah Cumpatrolled the length of the boat innumerable times, but neverletting his glance stray far from the gangplank. This wasautomatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. His mind wasbusy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. 

The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Ofcourse, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. Butthe girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge--ratherprofound--of human impulses. Somehow logic could not explain her. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who wasnothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not beable to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical?

Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might bethe more accurate application. Besides, he was a Yale man. He mightbe unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. The Yale spirit!Ah Cum smiled whimsically. After fifteen years, to find thatpeculiarly Occidental attribute--college loyalty--still alive inhis heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that wasmerely the flower of youthful enthusiasm!

With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculationover this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. 

"Hey, you!"

Ah Cum stopped and turned. Framed in one of the square ports of thepacket was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatricalmask. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and theother ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. 

"Speak English?" boomed the voice. 

"Yes; I speak English. "

"Fine! I'll be wanting a guide. Where can I get one?" askedO'Higgins. 

"I am one. "

"All right. I'll be with you in a jiffy. " Quarter of an hour laterO'Higgins stepped off the gangplank. He carried a small bag. "Thisyour regular business?"

"For the present. Will you be wanting me alone?" asked Ah Cum. "Igenerally take a party. "

"What'll it cost to have you all to myself for the day?"

Ah Cum named the sum. He smiled inwardly. Here was one of thoseAmericans who would make him breathless before sundown. The boomingvoice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry. 

"You're on, " said O'Higgins. "Now, lead me to a hotel where I canget breakfast. Wait a moment. I've got an address here. "

O'Higgins emptied an inside pocket--and purposely let the batteredphotograph fall to the ground. He pretended to be unaware of themishap. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. Herose slowly and extended it. An ancient smile lay on his lips. 

"You dropped this, sir. "

"Oh. Thanks. " O'Higgins, bitten with disappointment, returned thephotograph to his pocket. "Victoria; that's the hotel. "

"That's but a short distance from here, sir. "

"O'Higgins is the name. "

"Mr. O'Higgins. Let me take the satchel, sir. "

"It's light. I'll tote it myself. Say, ever see any one resemblingthat photograph I dropped?"

"So many come and go, " said Ah Cum, shrugging. "Few stay more thana day. And there are other guides. "

"Uh-huh. Well, let's beat it to the hotel. I'm hungry. "

"This way, sir. "

"What's your name?"

Ah Cum got out his black-bordered card and offered it. 

"Aw Come. That sounds kind of funny, " said O'Higgins. Smiling, theChinaman gave the correct pronunciation. "I see. Ah Coom. What'sthe idea of the black border?"

"My father recently died, sir. "

"But that style isn't Oriental. "

"I was educated in America. "

"Where?"

"At Yale. "

"Well, well! This part of the world is jammed full of surprises. Imet a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. "

"Will you be taking a pole-chair?"

"If that's the racket. I naturally want to do it up in properstyle. "

"Very well, sir. I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty. "

Ten minutes' walk brought them to the hotel. As O'Higgins signedthe hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures. 

"Anywhere, " he said in answer to the manager's query. "I'm notparticular about rooms. Where's the dining room? And, say, can Ihave some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. "

"Come this way, Mr. O'Higgins, " said the manager, amusedly. 

O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. That register would beeasy to get at; comforting thought. It did not matter in the leastwhat name the young fellow was travelling under; all James BoyleO'Higgins wanted was the letter H. There was something fatalisticabout the letter H. The individual twist was always there, even inthe cleverest forgeries. 

The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world hadthe least conception of what the coffee bean was for. Always asblack and bitter as gall. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but aguy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. 

Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. After awhile one began to talk. 

"The manager says there is still some doubt. The change will cometo-day. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. "

O'Higgins extracted a cigar from a pocket and inspected it. HenryClay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old NewYork. He would never be able to figure out that: all these milesfrom Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. Heheard the woman talking again. 

"I feel guilty, going away and leaving that ignorant child; but ourdays have been so planned that we dare not change the schedule. Didn't understand me when I said she would be compromised! He won'tbe able to leave his bed under four weeks; and she said she hadn'tmuch money. If she had once known him, if he were some formerneighbour, it would be comprehensible. But an individual she neverlaid eyes on day before yesterday! And the minute he gets up, he'llhead for the public bar. There's something queer about that youngman; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. I don'tbelieve his name is Taber. "

O'Higgins tore free the scarlet band of his perfecto, the end ofwhich he bit off with strong white teeth, and smiled. You certainlyhad to hand it to these Chinks. Picked up the photograph, looked atit, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clearas daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as therace itself. He hadn't patrolled old Pell Street as a plain clothesman without getting a glimmer of the ancient truth that East isEast and West is West. He would have some sport with Mr. Ah Cumbefore the day was over, slyly baiting him. But what had youngSpurlock done for Ah Cum in the space of twenty-four hours that hadengaged Ah Cum's loyalty, not only engaged it but put it on guard?For O'Higgins, receiving light from the next table, had no doubtregarding the identity of the subject of this old maid'sobservations. 

A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinarycase of man-hunt. He had certain orders from which on no accountwas he to deviate. But this made the chase all the more exciting. What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed threeor four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarrywould be for the next three weeks. 

There was now a girl in the picture, so it seemed. Well, this wasthe side of the world where things like that happened. The boywould naturally attract the women, if the women were at allromantic. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drewsentimental females. Probably some woman on the loose; they were asthick as flies over here--dizzy blondes. That is, if Spurlock hadbeen throwing money about, which was more than likely. 

"As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers, " Prudencedeclared. 

"Out of a family album, you said, " Angelina reminded her sister. 

O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawingupon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. 

"Beg pardon, " he said, "but isn't smoking allowed in the diningroom?"

"It probably is, " answered Prudence, "but that in no wise mitigatesthe odiousness of the procedure. "

"Plumb in the eye!" said O'Higgins, rising. "I'll tote theodiousness outside. "

He was delighted to find the office deserted. He inspected theformidable array of rifles and at length walked over to theregister. Howard Taber. From his wallet he brought forth a yellowletter. Quickly he compared the Hs. They were so nearly alike thatthe difference would be due to a shaky hand. But for perfectsatisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. Humph. A crisisof some kind was toward. It might be that the boy had taken onedrink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. TheOriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff. 

But that Chink, Ah Cum! O'Higgins chuckled as he passed into thehall and rested his hand on the newel-post of the staircase. He'dhave some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. 

O'Higgins mounted the stairs, his step extraordinarily light forone so heavy. In the upper hall he paused to listen. There wasabsolute quiet. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door andentered. The mock astonishment of his face immediately becamegenuine. 

The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting anoblong block of mote-swimming light. In the midst of this lightstood a young woman. To O'Higgins--for all his sordid business hewas not insensible to beauty--to O'Higgins she appeared to haveentered the room with the light. Above her head was an aura ofwhite fire. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lancestriking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed inEuropean clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face ofthe man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. Herecognized the face instantly. 

There came to O'Higgins the discouraging knowledge that upon theheels of a wonderful chase--blindman's buff in the dark--would comea stretch of dull inaction. He would have to sit down here inCanton and wait, perhaps for weeks. Certainly he could not move nowother than to announce the fact that he had found his man. 

"I beg pardon, " he said. "Got the rooms mixed. "

The young woman laid a finger on her lips, cautioning O'Higgins tosilence. The detective backed out slowly and closed the doorwithout sound. 

Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smoothblue chin. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days allthere was to see of Canton. After the sights he would have totwiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. All at once he saw away out of the threatening doldrums. Some trustworthy Chinaman towatch, for a small bribe, while he, James Boyle O'Higgins, enjoyedhimself in Hong-Kong, seeing the spring races, the boxing matches, and hobnobbing with Yankee sailors. Canton was something like ablind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhereexcept by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. 

Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to hisroom. At nine-thirty he climbed into the chair and signified to AhCum that he was ready. 

"You speak English better than I do, " said O'Higgins, as thecoolies jogged across the bridge toward the gate. "Where did youpick it up?"

"I believe I told you; at Yale. "

O'Higgins laughed. "I'd forgotten. But that explains everything. "

"Everything. " It was not uttered interrogatively; rather as thoughAh Cum did not like the significance of the word and was turning itover and about in speculation. 

"Ye-ah, " said O'Higgins, jovially. "Why you pretended not torecognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around thesediggings all day yesterday. "

Many wrinkles appeared at the corners of Ah Cum's slant eyes--as ifthe sun hurt--but the rest of his face remained as passive as agraven Buddha's. 

CHAPTER X

Ah Cum was himself puzzled. Why hadn't he admitted that herecognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftlyto assume his Oriental mask?

"Why?" asked O'Higgins. "What's the particular dope?"

"If I told you, you would laugh, " answered Ah Cum, gravely. 

"No; I don't think I'd laugh. You never saw him before yesterday. Why should you want to shield him?"

"I really don't know. "

"Because he said he was a Yale man?"

"That might be it. "

"Treated you like a white man there, did they?"

"Like a gentleman. "

"All right. I had that coming. I didn't think. But, holy smoke!--theYale spirit in. .. . "

"A Chinaman. I wonder. I spent many happy days there. Perhaps itwas the recollection of those happy days. You are a detective?"

"Yes. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow;I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. "

"You have extradition papers?"

"What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. 

"Then his case is hopeless. "

"Absolutely. "

"I'm sorry. He does not look the criminal. "

"That's the way it goes. You never can tell. " There was a pause. "They tell me over here that the average Chinaman is honest. "

Ah Cum shrugged. "Yes?"

"And that when they give their word, they never break it. "O'Higgins had an idea in regard to Ah Cum. 

"Your tone suggests something marvellous in the fact, " replied AhCum, ironically. "Why shouldn't a Chinaman be honest? Ah, yes; Iknow. Most of you Americans pattern all Chinese upon those who filla little corner in New York. In fiction you make the Chinesesecretive, criminal, and terrible--or comic. I am an educatedChinese, and I resent the imputations against my race. YouAmericans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, ourmany-times great grandfathers. On the other hand, you seldom revereyour immediate grandfather, unless he has promised to leave you somemoney. "

"Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. 

"Of course, there is a criminal element, but the percentage is nolarger than that in America or Europe. Why don't you try to findout how the every-day Chinese lives, how he treats his family, whathis normal habits are, his hopes, his ambitions? Why don't you cometo China as I went to America--with an open mind?"

"You're on, " said O'Higgins, briskly. "I'll engage you for fourdays. To-day is for the sights; the other three days--lessons. How's that strike you?"

"Very well, sir. At least I can give you a glimmer. " A smile brokethe set of Ah Cum's lips. "I'll take you into a Chinese home. Weare very poor, but manage to squeeze a little happiness out of eachday. "

"And I promise that all you tell me and show me will sink in, "replied O'Higgins, frankly interested. "I'm a detective; my earsand eyes have been trained to absorb all I see and all I hear. WhenI absorb a fact, my brain weighs the fact carefully and stores itaway. You fooled me this morning; but I overheard two old maidstalking about you and the young man. "

"What has he done?"

"What did he have to drink over here last night?"

"Not even water. No doubt he has been drinking for days withouteating substantially, and his heart gave out. "

"What happened?"

Ah Cum recounted the story of the sing-song girl. "I had to give into him. You know how stubborn they get. "

"Surest thing you know. Bought the freedom of a sing-song girl; andall the while you knew you'd have to tote the girl back. But theYale spirit!"

Ah Cum laughed. 

"I've got a proposition to make, " said O'Higgins. 

"So long as it is open and above board. "

"It's that, but it interferes with the college spirit stuff. Woulda hundred dollars interest you?"

"Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience. "

"It won't. Here goes. I've come all these miles for this youngfellow; but I don't cotton to the idea of lallygagging four weeksin this burg. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap getsup. My proposition is for you to keep an eye on him, and the momenthe puts on his clothes to send me a telegram, care of the Hong-KongHotel. Understand me. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. For allyou might know, I might have someone watching you. This time hecouldn't get far. He will have to return to Hong-Kong. "

"Not necessarily. There is a railroad. "

"He won't be taking that. The only safe place for him is at sea;and if he had kept to the sea, I shouldn't have found him soeasily. Well, what about it?"

"I accept. "

"As an honest Chinaman?"--taking out the offensiveness of the queryby smiling. 

"As an honest Chinaman. "

O'Higgins produced his wallet. "Fifty now and fifty when I return. "

"Agreed. Here are the jade carvers. Would you like to see them atwork?"

"Lead on, Macduff!"

Ah Cum raised the skirt of his fluttering blue silk robe and storedthe bill away in a trouser wallet. It was the beginning and the endof the transaction. When he finally telegraphed his startlinginformation to Hong-Kong, it was too late for O'Higgins to act. Thequarry had passed out into the open sea. 

 * * * * *

From the comatose state, Spurlock passed into that of the babblingfever; but that guarding instinct which is called subconsciousnessheld a stout leash on his secret. He uttered one word over andover, monotonously:

"Fool! . .. Fool!"

But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his headwould cease to roll from side to side. He hung precariously on theragged edge, but he hung there. Three times he uttered a phrase:

"A djinn in a blue-serge coat!"

And each time he would follow it with a chuckle--the chuckle of asoul in damnation. 

Neither the American Express nor Cook's had received mail forHoward Taber; he was not on either list. This was irregular. A manmight be without relatives, but certainly he would not be withoutfriends, that is to say, without letters. The affair was thick withsinister suggestions. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression ofthe girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled. 

The whole affair interested him deeply. That was one of thecompensations for having consigned himself to this part of theworld. Over here, there was generally some unusual twist to a case. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that hewould have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. When herecovered his mental faculties, he would lie there, neutral; theycould save him or let him die, as they pleased; and the doctor knewthat he would wear himself out forcing his own will to live intothis neutrality. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. 

To fight inertia on the one hand and to study this queer girl onthe other. Any financial return was inconsiderable against thepromise of this psychological treat. The girl was like somenorth-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft ofsunlight--beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscuredelsewhere. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewherethe sleeping tigress. The elemental woman was always close to thecat: as the elemental man was always but a point removed from thewolf. 

It was so arranged that Ruth went on duty after breakfast andremained until noon. The afternoon was her own; but from eightuntil midnight she sat beside the patient. At no time did she feelbodily or mental fatigue. Frequently she would doze in her chair;but the slightest movement on the bed aroused her. 

At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jawsmiled across his table at her. She recognized him as the man whohad blundered into the wrong room. 

"How is the patient?" he asked. 

"He will live, " answered Ruth. 

"That's fine, " said O'Higgins. "I suppose he'll be on his feet anyday now. "

"No. It will take at least three weeks. "

"Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end. You're a friendof the young man?"

"If you mean did I know him before he became ill, no. "

"Ah. " O'Higgins revolved this information about, but no angleemitted light. Basically a kindly man but made cynical and derisiveby sordid contacts, O'Higgins had almost forgotten that there wassuch a thing as unselfishness. The man or woman who did somethingfor nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing somekind of a game. "You mean you were just sorry for him?"

"As I would be for any human being in pain. "

"Uh-huh. " For the life of him, O'Higgins could not think ofanything else to say. Just because she was sorry for that youngfool! "Uh-huh, " he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth'stable. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was ariddle, and four-square besides. Back in the States young women didnot offer to play the Good Samaritan to strange young fools whomJawn D. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine:unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. Maybe the girlwas telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. 

The situation bothered him considerably. Things happened frequentlyover here that wouldn't happen in the States once in a hundredyears. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chaplike Spurlock jumped the traces, _cherchez la femme_, every time. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back therein little old New York. .. . 

"Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as hestepped out into the sunshine. "My old coco is disintegrating. I'vebumped into so much of the underside that I can't see clean anymore. No girl with a face like that. .. . And yet, dang it! I've seen'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers. Let's get toHong-Kong, James, and hit the high spots while there is time. "

He signalled to Ah Cum; and the two of them crossed on foot intothe city. 

It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constantvigil was broken. The patient fell into a natural and refreshingsleep. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. Shetiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which shecarried to a chair by the window. Since the discovery of them, shehad been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. Treasurecaves to explore!

All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered whatthis strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo hadnot already said. That was the true marvel of it. No matter howmany books one read, each was different, as each human being wasdifferent. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in thesea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands--one sawthe difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: thateach and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods andintelligence. 

Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, butwhere the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. She wasacquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by theprocess of analysis. 

There were seven tales in all--short stories--a method ofexpression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases ofDickens and Hugo. When she had finished the first tale, there was asense of disappointment. She had expected a love story; and lovewas totally absent. It was a tale of battle, murder, and suddendeath on the New York waterfront. Sordid; but that was not Ruth'sterm for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. 

From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty ora paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send herrushing on for something that never happened. Each manuscript waslike the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Abruptly would come the end. It was as if she had come upon thebeautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door--nothing. 

She did not realize that she was offering criticisms. The word"criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than"compromise. " Some innate sense of balance told her that somethingwas wrong with these tales. She could not explain in words why theydisappointed her or that she was disappointed. 

Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation. Atthe least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where shewas; which was something in their favour. 

"My coat!"

Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. 

"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. 

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Corporation. The Ragged Edge. _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. ]

CHAPTER XI

The second call energized her into action. She dropped themanuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that abutton hung loose. Later, she would sew it on. 

"What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. 

"Fold it . .. Under the pillow. "

This she did carefully, but inwardly commenting that he was stillin the realm of strange fancies. Wanting his coat, when he musthave known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk hadcost him something. The performance over, he relaxed and closed hiseyes. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form onhis forehead and under the nether lip. She wet some absorbentcotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. This done, shewaited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he wasconscious of her nearness. 

The poor boy, wanting his empty coat! The incident, however, causedher to review the recent events. It was now evident that he had notbeen normal that first day. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. Perhapsthese few words were the first real conscious words he had utteredin days. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observingthe strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern onreturning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter ofcredit. How would he act when he learned that it had vanished?

She gathered up the manuscripts and restored them to the envelope. This she put into the trunk. She noticed that this trunk was notlittered with hotel labels. These little squares of coloured paperinterested her mightily--hotel labels. She was for ever scanningluggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniaturepictures. London, Paris, Rome! There were no hotel labels on thepatient's trunk, but there were ship labels; and by these she wasable to reconstruct the journey: from New York to Naples, thence toAlexandria; from Port Saïd to Colombo; from Colombo to Bombay; fromCalcutta to Rangoon, thence down to Singapore; from Singapore toHong-Kong. The great world outside!

She stood motionless beside the trunk, deep in speculation; andthus the doctor found her. 

"Well?" he whispered. 

"I believe he is conscious, " she answered. "He just asked for hiscoat, which he wanted under his pillow. "

"Conscious; well, that's good news. He'll be able to help us alittle now. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owesyou. "

"Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture. 

"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!"

"A brick?"

He chuckled. "I forgot. That's slang, meaning you're splendid. "

"I begin to see that I shall have to learn English all over again. "

"You have always spoken it?"

"Yes; except for some native. I wasn't taught that; I simply fellinto it from contact. "

"I see. So he's come around, then? That's fine. "

He approached the bed and laid his palm on the patient's forehead, and nodded. Then he took the pulse. 

"He will pull through?"

"Positively. But the big job for you is yet to come. When he beginsto notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. "

"Then he has been unfortunate?"

"That's patent enough. He's had a hard knock somewhere; and untilhe is strong enough to walk, we must keep his interest away fromthat thought. After that, we'll go our several ways. "

"What makes you think he has had a hard knock?"

"I'm a doctor, young lady. "

"You're fine, too. I doubt if you will receive anything for yourtrouble. "

"Oh, yes I will. The satisfaction of cheating Death again. You'vebeen a great help these five days; for he had to have attendanceconstantly, and neither Wu nor I could have given that. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had inmind. "

"To make him forget the knock?"

"Precisely. I'm going to be frank; we must have a clearunderstanding. Can you afford to give this time? There are your ownaffairs to think of. "

"There's no hurry. "

"And money?"

"I'll have plenty, if I'm careful. "

"It has done me a whole lot of good to meet you. Over here a manquickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground oncemore. Is there anything you'd like?"

"Books. "

"What kind?"

"Dickens, Hugo. "

"I'll bring you an armful this afternoon. I've a lot of oldmagazines, too. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. "

"Ask them, all of them, and I will gladly answer. I mystify you; Ican see that. Well, whenever you say, I promise to do away with themystery. "

"All right. I'll call for you this afternoon when Wu is on. I'llshow you the Sha-mien; and we can talk all we want. "

"I was never going to tell anybody, " she added. "But you are a goodman, and you'll understand. I believed I was strong enough to go onin silence; but I'm human like everybody else. To tell someone whois kind and who will understand!"

"There, there!" he said. There was a hint of tears in her voice. "That's all right. We'll get together this afternoon; and you canpretend that I am your father. "

"No! I have run away from my father. I shall never go back to him;never, never!"

Distressed, embarrassed beyond measure by this unexpected tragicrevelation, the doctor puttered about among the bottles on thestand. 

"We're forgetting, " he said. "We mustn't disturb the patient. I'llcall for you after lunch. "

"I'm sorry. "

She began to prepare the room for Wu's coming, while the doctorwent downstairs. As he was leaving the hotel, Ah Cum stepped up tohis side. 

"How is Mr. Taber?"

"Regained consciousness this morning. "

Ah Cum nodded. "That is good. "

"You are interested?"

"In a way, naturally. We are both graduates of Yale. "

"Ah! Did he tell you anything about himself?"

"Aside from that, no. When will he be up?"

"That depends. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Did he talk a littlewhen you took him into the city?"

"No. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried todraw him out. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl hewanted to buy. "

"Why didn't you head him off, explain that it couldn't be done by awhite man?"

Ah Cum shrugged. "You are a physician; you know the vagaries of menin liquor. He was a stranger. I did not know how he would act if Iobstructed him. "

"We found all his pockets empty. "

"Then they were empty when he left, " replied Ah Cum, with dignity. 

"I was only commenting. Did he act to you that day as if he knewwhat he was doing?"

"Not all of the time. "

"A queer case;" and the doctor passed on. 

Ah Cum made a movement as though to follow, but reconsidered. Theword of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide. There wasnow no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. Ofcourse, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. And yet, mulling it over, he began to understand why the white man was sopowerful in the world: he was taught loyalty and fair play in hisschools, and he carried this spirit the world which his forebearshad conquered. 

Suddenly Ah Cum laughed aloud. He, a Chinaman, troubling himselfover Occidental ideas! With his hands in his sleeves, he proceededon his way. 

 * * * * *

Ruth and the doctor returned to the hotel at four. Both carriedpackages of books and magazines. There was an air of repressedgaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heartwas empty again. The burden of decision had been transferred. 

And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon thedoctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. He knew nothow to act, urged as he was in two directions. It would be uselessto tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not adviseher to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead oralive. He was also aware that all his arguments would shatterthemselves against her resolutions. There was a strange quality ofsteel in this pretty creature. He understood now that it was a partof her inheritance. The father would be all steel. One point in hernarrative stood out beyond all others. To an unthinking mind theepisode would be ordinary, trivial; but to the doctor, who had hadplenty of time to think during his sojourn in China, it was basicof the child's unhappiness. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede asclearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. 

To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neitherthe art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preachinggrandiloquently before a few score natives who understood littlebeyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding offdisintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; frombarricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas--inertia. 

The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utterloneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the fathervisited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below theiractual importance. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God intothe dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would becarrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. 

He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself:habit, a twice-told tale. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lenta hand through habit as much as through pity. The grim mockery ofit!--those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede'sChristianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money andmedicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the namea byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars. Andthis clear-visioned child had comprehended that only half therogues were really ill. But Enschede took them as they came, without question. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of theSeven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. 

This started a thought moving. There must be something behind themissioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing norsuspected. It would not be possible otherwise to live in dailycontact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all theseyears in the lonely citadel of his heart. Teaching the word of Godto the recent cannibal, caring for the sick, storming thestrongholds of the plague, adding his own private income to thepittance allowed him by the Society, and never seeing the angelthat walked at his side! Something the girl knew nothing about;else Enschede was unbelievable. 

It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told herstory; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither andyon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she hadfled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out ofthe patterns, the unspoken longing for love. 

"Well, " she said, as they reached the hotel portal, "what is youradvice?"

"Would you follow it?"

"Probably not. Still, I am curious. "

"I do not say that what you have done is wrong in any sense. I donot blame you for the act. There are human limitations, and nodoubt you reached yours. For all that, it is folly. If you knewyour aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. But to plunge blindly into the unknown!"

"I had to! I had to!"

She had told him only the first part of her story. She wondered ifthe second part would overcome his objections? Several times thewords had rushed to her tongue, to find her tongue paralysed. To awoman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. How could she tell him of the evil that drewher and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?--the fascinating evilthat even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison inher mind?

"Yes, yes!" said the doctor. "But if you do not find this aunt, what will you do? What can you do to protect yourself againsthunger?"

"I'll find something. "

"But warn the aunt, prepare her, if she lives. "

"And have her warn my father! No. If I surprised her, if I saw heralone, I might make her understand. "

He shook his head. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that Ican see. "

"And what is that?"

"I have relatives not far from Hartford. I may prevail upon them totake you in until you are full-fledged, providing you do not findthis aunt. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter ofcredit. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach yourdestination. The pearls were really yours?"

"They were left to me by my mother. I sometimes laid away myfather's clothes in his trunk. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. I nevereven burrowed down into the trunk. I had no curiosity of that kind. I wanted something _alive_. " She paused. 

"Go on. "

"Well, suddenly I knew that I must see the inside of that box, which had a padlock. I wrenched this off, and in an envelopeaddressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. Itis queer how ideas pop into one's head. Instantly I knew that I wasgoing to run away that night before he returned from theneighbouring island. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of mymother's dresses. I packed them with the other few things I owned. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me atonce what he judged a fair price. You will wonder why he did nothold the pearls until Father returned. I didn't understand then, but I do now. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. "

"And partly what else?"

"I shall never tell anybody that. "

"I don't know, " said the doctor, dubiously. "You're only twenty--notlegally of age. "

"I am here in Canton, " she replied, simply. 

"Very well. I'll cable to-night, and in a few days we'll have somenews. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certainprivileges. Sometimes I am frightfully busy; and then there will beperiods of dullness. I have a few regular patients, and I take careof them in the morning. Every afternoon, from now on, I will teachyou a little about life--I mean the worldly points of view you'relikely to meet. You are queerly educated; and it strikes me thatyour father had some definite purpose in thus educating you. I'lltry to fill in the gaps. "

The girl's eyes filled. "I wonder if you will understand what thiskindness means to me? I am so terribly wise--and so wofullyignorant!"

CHAPTER XII

The doctor shifted his books and magazines to the crook of hiselbow. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. He had notbeen successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had nevermaterialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. 

And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionablepractitioner in Hong-Kong. He wasn't quite hard enough to winworldly success; that was his fault. Anybody in pain had only tocall to him. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, inChina, having missed all the thrills in life except one--the waragainst Death. It rather astonished him. He hadn't followed thisangle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with alittle shrewd selfishness. This extraordinary child had opened upan old channel through which it was no longer safe to cruise. Shewas like an angel with one wing. The simile started a laugh in histhroat. 

"Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. 

"At a thought. Of you--an angel with one wing. "

"Meaning that I don't belong anywhere, in heaven or on earth?"

"Meaning that you must cut off the wing or grow another to mate it. Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. Wu may have news forus. We'll get those books into your room first. And I'll havesupper with you. "

"If only. .. . " But she did not complete the thought aloud. If onlythis man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing;the island would have been wide enough. 

"You were saying--?"

"I started to say something; that is all. "

"By the way, did you read those stories?"

"Yes. "

"Worth anything?"

"I don't know. "

"Silly love stories?"

"No; love wasn't the theme. Supposing you take them and read them?You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed. "

"All right. I'll take them back with me. Probably he has somethingto say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. "

"Do you believe his failure caused. .. . "

"What?" he barked. But he did not follow on with the thought. Therewas no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain therewere grounds for it. "Well, you never can tell, " he continued, lamely. "These writer chaps are queer birds. "

"Queer birds. "

He laughed and followed her into the hotel. "More slang, " he said. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. "

"I have heard sailors use words like that, but I never knew whatthey meant. "

Sailors, he thought; and most of them the dregs of the South Seas, casting their evil glances at this exquisite creature and trying tosmirch with innuendo the crystal clearness of her mind. Perhapsthere were experiences she would never confide to any man. Suddenindignation boiled up in him. The father was a madman. It did notmatter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Hehadn't played fair. 

"Remember; we must keep the young fellow's thoughts away fromhimself. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the woodentom-toms; read to him. "

"What made him buy that sing-song girl?" Regarding this, Ruth hadideas of her own, but she wanted the doctor's point of view. 

"Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fineaction might give him a hand-hold on life again. You tell me hedidn't like the stuff. "

"He shuddered when he drank. "

"Well, that's a hopeful sign. I'll test him out later; see if thereis any craving. Give me the books. I'll put them in your room; thenwe'll have a look-see. "

The patient was asleep. According to Wu, the young man had notopened his eyes once during the afternoon. 

So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines thedoctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched forpictures. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson'sverse--her first adventure into poetry. The hymnal lyrics had neverstirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrot-wise. But herewas new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved toand fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. Anything thathad love in it!

The doctor comprehended that he also had his work cut out. Whilethe girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl frombrooding over hers. So he made merry at the dinner table, toldcomic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which shegrasped the comic side of life. His curiosity put itself into aquestion. 

"Old Morgan the trader, " she explained, "used to save me _Tit-Bits_. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after atime I could see the point of a joke without having it explained tome. I believe it amused him. I was a novelty. He was always in astate of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. Probably he taught me what a joke was merely to irritate my father;for suddenly Father stopped my going to the store for things andsent our old Kanaka cook instead. She had been to San Francisco, and what I learned about the world was from her. Thank you for thebooks. "

"You were born on the island?"

"I believe so. "

"You don't remember your mother?"

"Oh, no; she died when I was very little. "

She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. It was equallyas beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. He returnedthe locket without comment. 

"Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived. "

"No doubt, " he replied. "Mine died while I was over here. Perhapsthat is why I lost my ambition. "

"I am sorry. "

"It is life. "

There was a pause. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about thehouse. But after a time I learned the ways of the parrakeets, andthey would come down to me like doves in the stories. I never madeany effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to lightfearlessly on my arms and shoulders. And what a noise they made!This is how I used to call them. "

She pursed her lips and uttered a whistle, piercingly shrill andhigh; and instantly she became the object of intense astonishmenton the part of the other diners. She was quite oblivious to thesensation she had created. 

The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling andswooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. 

"I never told anybody, " she went on. "An audience might havefrightened the birds. Only in the sunshine; they would not answermy whistle on cloudy days. "

"Didn't the natives have a name for you?"

She blushed. "It was silly. "

"Go on, tell me, " he urged, enchanted. Never was there another girllike this one. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. He hadinvited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. They were exquisite. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and bytravel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted thefineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternalwarfare against indifference and slovenliness. Only the strongsurvived. This queer father of hers had given her everything buthis arms. "Tell me, what did they call you?"

"Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but thenatives called me the Dawn Pearl. "

"The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical asthe yellow or the black. What did you do when your father went ontrips to other islands?"

"Took off my shoes and stockings and played in the lagoon. "

"He made you wear shoes and stockings?"

"Always. "

"What else did you do when alone?"

"I read the encyclopaedia. That is how I learned that there weresuch things as novels. Books! Aren't they wonderful?"

The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secretdoorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. Books; aninexplicable hunger to be satisfied. Somewhere in the world therewas a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her thebest he had. He envied her a little. To fall upon those tales forthe first time, when the mind was fresh and the heart was young!

He became aware of an odd phase to this conversation. Thecontinuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions. Take the one that struck him at this moment. Supposing that was it;at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing herfather had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solelyto fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind?

"Didn't you despise the men your father brought home--thebeachcombers?"

"No. In the beginning was afraid; but after the first severalcases, I had only pity. I somehow understood. "

"Didn't some of them . .. Try to touch you?"

"Not the true unfortunates. How men suffer for the foolish thingsthey do!"

"Ay to that. There's our young friend upstairs. "

"There's a funny idea in my head. I've been thinking about it eversince morning. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want tosew it on. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. "

"Ah, yes; that coat. Probably a sick man's whim. Certainly, therewasn't a thing in the pockets. But be very careful not to let himknow. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back. By the way, what did he say when he was out of his head?"

"The word 'Fool. ' He muttered it continually. There was anotherphrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. Iwonder what he meant by that?"

"The Lord knows!"

The patient was restless during the first watch of the night. Hestirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his armsabove his head. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. There wasa recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Once she heard himmutter, and she leaned down. 

"Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!. .. God-forsaken fool!"

CHAPTER XIII

One day Ruth caught the patient's eyes following her about; butthere was no question in the gaze, no interest; so she pretendednot to notice. 

"Where am I?" asked Spurlock. 

"In Canton. "

"How long have I been in bed?"

"A week. "

"My coat, please. "

"It is folded under your pillow. "

"Did I ask for it?"

"Yes. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. You were probably robbed in Hong-Kong. "

"Nothing in the pockets. "

"You see, we didn't know but you might die; and so we had to searchyour belongings for the address of your people. "

"I have no people--anybody who would care. "

She kindled with sympathy. He was all alone, too. Nobody who cared. 

Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, inpity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answeringimpulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She wasemerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was onthe rim, preparing to make his exit. Two souls in travail; oneinspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Both of themwould be committing novel and unforgettable acts. 

"How long shall I be here?" he asked. 

"That depends upon you. Not very long, if you want to get well. "

"Are you a nurse?"

"Yes. Don't ask any more questions. Wait a little; rest. "

There was a pause. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and hetook note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time thesunshine touched her hair. 

"Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"The first day you came. Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city. "

"As in a dream. " There was another pause. "Was I out of my head?"

"Yes. "

"What did I say?"

"Only one word, " she said, offering her first white lie. 

"What was it?" He was insistent. 

"You repeated the word '_Fool_' over and over. "

"Nothing else?"

"No. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave theroom. "

"I promise to ask no more. "

"Would you like to have me read to you?"

He did not answer. So she took up Stevenson and began to readaloud. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poemsignified nothing. She went from period to period exactly as shewould have read prose; so that sense and music were equallybalanced. She read for half an hour, then closed the book becauseSpurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. But he was wide awake. 

"What poet was that?"

"Stevenson. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Gardenof Verse, " generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Ofcourse Ruth was not aware that in this same volume there werelyrics known the world over. 

Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. 

 "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. '"

 "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. And the hunter home from the hill. '"

"What is that?" she asked. Something in his tone pinched her heart. "Did you write it?"

"No. You will find it somewhere in that book. Ah, if I had writtenthat!"

"Don't you want to live?"

"I don't know; I really don't know. "

"But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. Sheremembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would beginwhen the patient recovered consciousness. "You have all the worldbefore you. "

"Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. 

Throughout the afternoon, while the doctor was giving her the firstlesson out of his profound knowledge of life, her interest wouldbreak away continually, despite her honest efforts to pin it downto the facts so patiently elucidated for her. Recurrently sheheard: "I don't know; I really don't know. " It was curiously likethe intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when herfather paused for breath to launch additional damnation for thosewho disobeyed the Word. "I don't know; I really don't know. "

Her ear caught much of the lesson, and many things she stored away;but often what she heard was sound without sense. Still, her facenever betrayed this distraction. And what was singular she did notrecount to the doctor that morning's adventure. Why? If she had putthe query to herself, she could not have answered it. It was in nosense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient thedoctor had already anticipated. Yet she held her tongue. 

As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that wouldhave puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. There was scantsocial life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. He took his social pleasures once ayear in Hong-Kong, after Easter. He saw, without any particularregret, that this year he would have to forego the junket; butthere would be ample compensation in the study of these queeryoungsters. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, oldMcClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. 

All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copraplantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had anisland of his own. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede. Mac--theold gossip--knew about everything going on in that part of theworld; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl haddrawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. He mightsolve the riddle. All of which proves that the doctor also had hismoments of distraction, with this difference: he was not distractedfrom his subject matter. 

"So endeth the first lesson, " he said. "Suppose we go and have tea?I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to theVictoria instead. I must practise what I preach. "

"I should be unafraid to go anywhere with you. "

"Lord, that's just the lesson I've been expounding! It isn't aquestion of fear; it's one of propriety. "

"I'll never understand. "

"You don't have to. I'll tell you what. I'll write out certainrules of conduct, and then you'll never be in doubt. "

She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears. If only thischild were his: what good times they would have together! Thethought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. 

"Why do you laugh?" he asked. 

"All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed upin a phrase. "

"What was it?"

"Never glance sideways at a man. ". 

"The whole thing in a nutshell!"

"Are there no men a woman may trust absolutely?"

"Hang it, that isn't it. Of course there are, millions of them. It's public opinion. We all have to kow-tow to that. "

"Who made such a law?"

"This world is governed by minorities--in politics, in religion, insociety. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Footprints, and we have to toddle along in them, willy-nilly; and those whohave the courage to step outside the appointed path are calledpariahs!"

"I'm afraid I shall not like this world very much. It is puttingall my dreams out of joint. "

"Never let the unknown edge in upon your courage. The world is likea peppery horse. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'llgive you trouble. "

"It's all so big and aloof. It isn't friendly as I thought it wouldbe. I don't know; I really don't know, " she found herselfrepeating. 

He drew her away from this thought. "I read those stories. "

"Are they good?"

"He can write; but he hasn't found anything real to write about. Hehasn't found himself, as they say. He's rewriting Poe and DeMaupassant; and that stuff was good only when Poe and De Maupassantwrote it. "

"How do you spell the last name?"

He spelt it. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudderstir her shoulders. "Not the sort of stories young ladies shouldread. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares. But DeMaupassant--sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Before you go I'll give you a list of books to read. "

"There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?"

"Yes. Sewn on that button yet?"

"I've been afraid to take the coat from under the pillow. "

"Funny, about that coat. You told him there wasn't anything in thepockets?"

"Yes. "

"How did he take it?"

"He did not seem to care. "

"There you are, just as I said. We've got to get him to care. We'vegot to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. That's the job. He's young and sound. Of course, there'll be a fewkinks to straighten out. He's passed through some rough mentaltorture. But one of these days everything will click back intoplace. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'llgo strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the wholeshot to us. That would be fun, eh?"

"I wonder if you know how kind you are? You are like somebody outof a book. "

"There, now! You mustn't get mixed. You mustn't go by what you readso much as by what you see and hear. You must remember, you've justbegun to read; you haven't any comparisons. You mustn't go dressingup Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. What you want todo is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a RawdonCrawley. "

"I know what is good, " she replied. 

"Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. And so, here we are, right back from where we started. But no more of that. Let's talkof this chap. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the wayto dig it out. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. Unlesswe can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this allover again when he gets on his feet. That's the way it goes. Butbetween us, we'll have him writing books some day. That's one ofthe troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off thanhe actually is. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. Disappointed puppy-love, and all that. "

"Puppy-love. "

"A young fellow who thinks he's in love, when he has only beenreading too much. "

"Do girls have puppy-love?"

"Land sakes, yes! On the average they are worse than the boys. Aboy can forget his amatory troubles playing baseball; but a girlcan't find any particular distraction in doing fancy work. Do youknow, I envy you. All the world before you, all the ologies. Whatan adventure! Of course, you'll bark your shins here and there andhit your funnybone; but the newness of everything will be somethingof a compensation. All right. Let's get one idea into our heads. Weare going to have this chap writing books one of these days. "

Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. Thedoctor had sown a seed, carelessly. All that he had sown thatafternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to thisseed, cast without forethought. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for along time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green thingswould spring up and blossom overnight. Already the seed of a tenderdream was stirring. The hour for which, presumably, she had beencreated was drawing nigh. For in life there is but one hour: anepic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. 

"By the way, " said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room ofthe Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over. "

"What?"

"We'll put those stories back into the trunk and never speak ofthem to him. "

"But why not?"

The doctor dallied with his teaspoon. Something about the girl hadsuggested an idea. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth beenother than what she was. First-off, he had decided not to tell herwhat he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. Now itoccurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be abetter way. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analyticalreach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of thenurse. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did notpossess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. To disillusion her, forthwith. 

"I'll tell you why, " he said. "At the bottom of that big envelope Ifound this one. "

He passed it over; and Ruth read:

 To be opened in case of my death and the letter inside forwarded to the address thereon. All my personal effects to be left in charge of the nearest American Consulate. 

CHAPTER XIV

Ruth lost the point entirely. The doctor expected her to seize uponthe subtle inference that there was something furtive, evencriminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation uponhumanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. Theidea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. Any man mighthave endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with noone to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if itmattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiarplaces he loved. 

Close upon this came another thought. She had no place she loved. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her:Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of theisland was repellent. She hated it, she hated the mission-house;she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. But someday she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples onthe boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into herface. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosyapples and flurries of snow. 

"The poor young man!" she said. 

The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could nottell how or why. He dared not go on. He was not sure that the boyhad put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointedthat way. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, andin the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by thewitless cruelty of the act. 

That night in his den he smoked many pipes. Twice he cleaned theold briar; still there was no improvement. He poured a pinch oftobacco into his palm and sniffed. The weed was all right. Probablysomething he had eaten. He was always forgetting that his tummy wasfifty-four years old. 

He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. Mac would have somenew yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. Hewas a comforting, humorous old ruffian; but there were few men inthe Orient more deeply read in psychology and physiognomy. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology andphysiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more thanthree or four times a year, only then when they had to. Why did thebeggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all thatcivilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to seeMcClintock; and the sooner he came the better. 

Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten downthe hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. The barometer saysnothing, neither the sky nor the water; the skipper has the "feel"that out yonder there's a big blow moving. Now the doctor had the"feel" that somewhere ahead lay danger. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. 

 * * * * *

At the end of each day Ah Cum would inquire as to the progress ofthe patient, and invariably the answer was: "About the same. " Thiswent on for ten days. Then Ah Cum was notified that the patient hadsat up in bed for quarter of an hour. Promptly Ah Cum wired theinformation to O'Higgins in Hong-Kong. The detective reckoned thathis quarry would be up in ten days more. 

To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her visiona city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. Her fancifulimagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of awooden house, her arms extended in welcome. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyedthat buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself. 

Between Canton and Hartford two giants had risen, invisible butmenacing--Fear and Doubt. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face--blank. The doctor had not heard fromhis people. She was reasonably certain why. They did not want her. 

Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. Sometimes awhole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyondthe request for a drink of water. Again, he would ask a fewquestions, and Ruth would answer them. He would repeat theminnumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. 

"What is your name?"

"Ruth. "

"Ruth what?"

"Enschede; Ruth Enschede. "

"En-shad-ay. You are French?"

"No. Dutch; Pennsylvania Dutch. "

And then his interest would cease. Perhaps an hour later he wouldbegin again. 

At other times he seemed to have regained the normal completely. Hewould discuss something she had been reading, and he would give hersome unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before herwith astonishing clearness. Then suddenly the curtain would fall. 

"What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. "AnAmerican. Enschede--that's a queer name. "

"I'm a queer girl, " she replied with a smile. 

Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which thedisordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. 

"I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. "

"I've been wondering, too. "

"Are you a real nurse?"

"Yes. "

"Professional?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Professional nurses wear a sort of uniform. "

"While I look as if I had stepped out of the family album?"

He frowned perplexedly. "Where did I hear that before?"

"Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. "

"I imagine I've been in a kind of trance. "

"And now you are back in the world again, with things to do andplaces to go. There is a button loose on that coat under yourpillow. Shall I sew it on for you?"

"If you wish. "

This readiness to surrender the coat to her surprised Ruth. She hadprepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of thatburning glance. But in a moment she believed she understood. He wasnormal now, and the coat was only a coat. It had been his feveredimagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinaryvalue. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from underthe pillow. 

"Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. 

"You were a little out of your head. "

Gravely he watched the needle flash to and fro. He noted the strongwhite teeth as they snipped the thread. At length the task wasdone, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. 

"Do you want it back under the pillow?"

"Hang it over a chair. Or, better still, put all my clothes in thetrunk. They litter up the room. The key is in my trousers. "

This business over, she returned to the bedside with the key. Shefelt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. Everyarticle in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recountingof the list by the doctor. To hand the key back in silence was likeoffering a lie. 

"Put it under my pillow, " he said. 

Immediately she had spoken of the loose button he knew thathenceforth he must show no concern over the disposition of thatcoat. He must not in any way call their attention to it. He mustpreserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant. Itwas his redemption, his ticket out of hell--that blue-serge coat. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coatabout on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; andlaughter bubbled into his throat. He smothered it down with such agood will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. The wallsrocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head hadthe nebulosity of a composite photograph. So he shut his eyes. Presently he heard her voice. 

"I must tell you, " she was saying. "We went through yourbelongings. We did not know where to send . .. In case you died. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. "

"Don't worry about that. " He opened his eyes again. 

"I wanted you to know. There is nobody, then?"

"Oh, there is an aunt. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. Will you read tome? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. "

Half an hour later she laid aside the book. He was asleep. Sheleaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, andshe set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamycontemplation. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were asempty as hers?

Some living thing that depended upon her. The doll she had neverowned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here theywere, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. He depended uponher, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement itwas now permissible to give him. The knowledge breathed into herheart a satisfying warmth. 

At noon the doctor himself arrived. "Go to lunch, " he ordered Ruth. He wanted to talk with the patient, test him variously; and hewanted to be alone with him while he put these tests. His idea wasto get behind this sustained listlessness. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. "A bit up in the world again; eh?"

"Why did you bother with me?"

"Because no human being has the right to die. Death belongs to God, young man. "

"Ah. " The tone was neutral. 

"And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to itthat you had the same care, the same chance. But don't thank me;thank Miss Enschede. She caught the fact that it was something morethan strong drink that laid you out. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. "

"Then I owe my life to her?"

"Positively. "

"What do you want me to do?"

The doctor thought this query gave hopeful promise. "Alwaysremember the fact. She is something different. When I told her thatthere were no available nurses this side of Hong-Kong, she offeredher services at once, and broke her journey. And I need not tellyou that her hotel bill is running on the same as yours. "

"Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?"

"Well, aren't you?"

"I don't know; I really don't know. "

"Look here, my boy, that attitude is all damned nonsense. Here youare, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. And you talk like that! Whatthe devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a castat random. 

His guardian angel warned Spurlock to speak carefully. "I have beenvery unhappy. "

"So have we all. But we get over it. And you will. "

After a moment Spurlock said: "Perhaps I am an ungrateful dog. "

"That's better. Remember, if there's anything you'd like to get offyour chest, doctors and priests are in the same boat. "

With no little effort--for the right words had a way of tumblingback out of reach--he marshalled his phrases, and as he utteredthem, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. "I'monly a benighted fool; and having said that, I have saideverything. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too muchimagination--the kind who build their own chimeras and then runaway from them. How long shall I be kept in this bed?"

"That's particularly up to you. Ten days should see you on yourfeet. But if you don't want to get up, maybe three times ten days. "

There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone downto this, the inclination to confess. He had often read about it, and once he had incorporated it in a story, that invisible forcewhich sent men to prison and to the gallows, when a tonguecontrolled would have meant liberty indefinite. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. It was less will thaneducation. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, histongue had not betrayed him. Perhaps that sealed letter was a formof confession, and thus relieved him on that score. And yet thatcould not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. 

His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. He couldneither stifle nor deaden that. It was always jabbing him withwhite-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. But it never said: "Tellsomeone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then?Was it what he had lost--the familiar world--rather than what hehad done?

He stared dully at the footrail. For the present the desire to flywas gone. No doubt that was due to his helplessness. When he was upand about, the idea of flight would return. But how far could hefly on a few hundred? True, he might find a job somewhere; butevery footstep from behind. .. !

"Who is she? Where does she come from?"

"You mean Miss Enschede?"

"Yes. That dress she has on--my mother might have worn it. "

He was beginning to notice things, then? The doctor was pleased. The boy was coming around. 

"Miss Enschede was born on an island in the South Seas. She issetting out for Hartford, Connecticut. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. "

The doctor had entered the room fully determined to tell thepatient the major part of Ruth's story, to inspire him with properrespect and gratitude. Instead, he could not get beyond these minordetails--why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whithershe was bound. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; thefact was evident but not the reason for it. 

"How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. "Outof the beaten track, with a real man for an employer? How wouldthat strike you?"

Interest shot into Spurlock's eyes; it spread to his wan face. Outof the beaten track! He must not appear too eager. "I'll need a jobwhen I quit this bed. I'm not particular what or where. "

"That kind of talk makes you sound like a white man. Of course, Ican't promise you the job definitely. But I've an old friend on theway here, and he knows the game down there. If he hasn't a job foryou, he'll know someone who has. Managers and accountants arealways shifting about, so he tells me. It's mighty lonesome downthere for a man bred to cities. "

"Find me the job. I don't care how lonesome it is. "

Out of the beaten track! thought Spurlock. A forgotten islandbeyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and moveblindly in its search for him! From what he had read, therewouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. 

"Thanks, " he said, holding out a thin white hand. "I'll be veryglad to take that kind of a job, if you can find it. "

"Well, that's fine. Got you interested in something, then? Wouldyou like a peg?"

"No. I hated the stuff. There was a pleasant numbness in thebottle; that's why I went to it. "

"Thought so. But I had to know for sure. Down there, whisky raisesthe very devil with white men. Don't build your hopes too high; butI will do what I can. While there's life there's hope. Buck up. "

"I'm afraid I don't understand. "

"Understand what?"

"You or this girl. There are, then, in this sorry world, people whocan be disinterestedly kind!"

The doctor laughed, gave Spurlock's shoulder a pat, and left theroom. Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. Whyhadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffedit back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry thisrather pathetic derelict on his way?

CHAPTER XV

Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by anappalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, itmight be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: therewere indications of subsidence, but there were still strange formsswirling on the surface--whims and fancies which in normal timeswould never have risen above sub-consciousness. 

Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that bothRuth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began toaccept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a moteor two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matterthat refused to straighten out. 

Spurlock began to watch for Ruth's coming in the morning; first, with negligent interest, then with positive eagerness. His literaryinstincts were reviving. Ruth was something to study for futurecopy; she was almost unbelievable. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather theincarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. He was not able torecognize, as the doctor did, that she was only a natural woman. 

His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of anysentimentality, utterly selfish. Ruth was not a woman; she was aphenomenon. So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; thatis, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until hehad quite a substantial array. What he did not know was this: Ruthsurrendered these little secrets because the doctor had warned herthat the patient must be amused and interested. 

From time to time, however, he was baffled. The real tragedy--whichhe sensed and toward which he was always reaching--eluded all hisverbal skill. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn acrossthat part of her life: it was of iron. Ruth could tell the doctor;she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man;but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whomshe still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. It wasnot due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, aprotective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery inorder to hold the interest of the male. 

When she told him that the natives called her The Dawn Pearl, hisdelight was unbounded. He addressed her by that title, andsomething in the tone disturbed her. A sophisticated woman wouldhave translated the tone as a caress. And yet to Spurlock it wasonly the title of a story he would some day write. He was caressingan idea. 

The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his ownimagination. The true creative mind is always returning to battle;defeats are only temporary set-backs. Spurlock knew that somewherealong the way he would write a story worth while. Already he wasdramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thievingadventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. Butsomehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular factthat Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. 

One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. Men hadtried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because theeyes that looked into hers were clean. Spurlock knew exactly whathe was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she wouldact. 

"I haven't offended you?"--not contritely but curiously. 

"No"--as if her thoughts were elsewhere. 

Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. "Has no manever kissed you?"

"No. " Which was literally the truth. 

He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man hadkissed her. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. But hisastonishment would have been great indeed had he known that noteven her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or withhands. 

Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. The significance of thekiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequentlyencountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments andlatterly in novels. Men had tried to kiss her--unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible--but she had always managed to escape. Whathad urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct ofthe good woman. Something namelessly abhorrent in the eyes of thosemen. .. !

She knew what arms were for--to fold and embrace and to hold onetightly; but why men wished to kiss women was still a profoundmystery. No matter how often she came across this phase in lovestories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all humanbeings perfectly understood. It would not have been for her ananomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. 

This salute of his--actually the first she could remember--while itdid not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channelsof speculation. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, themore convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help;she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by somefuture experience. 

"The Dawn Pearl, " he said. 

"The natives have foolish ways of saying things. "

"On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. Tellme about your island. I have never seen a lagoon. "

"But you can imagine it. Tell me what you think the island islike. "

He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he hadimagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. To be freeof outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon thescraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, withthe ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarredface; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of whitesand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandyfloor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; thescreaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; themission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; thelagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placidsapphire. 

"I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. For you say that you swim. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you, must have looked like pearls. Do you know what? You're some seagoddess and you're only fooling us. "

He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder. 

"And you saw all that in your mind?"

"It wasn't difficult. You yourself supplied the details. All I hadto do was to piece them together. "

"But I never told you how the natives fished. "

"Perhaps I read of it somewhere. "

"Still, you forgot something. "

"What did I forget?"

"The breathless days and the faded, pitiless sky. Nothing to do;nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. To wait for hours andhours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot themonotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you andcrushes you--you forgot that!"

Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionateanger. It was his turn to express astonishment. Fire; she was fullof it. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning!

"You don't like your island?"

"I hate it!. .. But, there!"--weariness edging in. "I am sorry. Ishouldn't talk like that. I'm a poor nurse. "

"You are the most wonderful human being I ever saw!" And he meantit. 

She trembled; but she did not know why. "You mustn't talk any more;the excitement isn't good for you. "

Drama. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why shehated her island. Never had he been so intrigued. Why, there wasdrama in the very dress she wore! There was drama in the unusualbeauty of her, hidden away all these years on a forgotten isle!

"You've been lonely, too. "

"You mustn't talk. "

He ignored the command. "To be lonely! What is physical torture, ifsomeone who loves you is nigh? But to be alone . .. As I am!. .. Yes, and as you are! Oh, you haven't told me, but I can see with half aneye. With nobody who cares . .. The both of us!"

He was real in this moment. She was given a glimpse of his soul. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she satperfectly still. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon hewould be going upon his way, that there would be no one to dependupon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon heragain. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thoughtof losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. There was the worldbesides, looming darker and larger. 

"What would you like most in this world?" he asked. Once more hewas the searcher. 

"Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenlytransfixed by some inner glory. 

"Red apples and snow!" he repeated. He returned figuratively to hisbed--the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for everlie. Red apples and snow! How often had these two things enteredhis thoughts since his wanderings began? Red apples and snow!--andnever again to behold them!

"I am going out for a little while, " she said. She wanted to bealone. "Otherwise you will not get your morning's sleep. "

He did not reply. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had beensubmerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made ofhimself. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fellinto a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. He saw her, dripping withrosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw herflashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he sawher breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beautyas the Winged Victory of the Louvre. The queer phase of the dreamwas this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical ofsomething, and he followed to learn what this something was. Therewas a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found hishand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of themountain. 

His heart beat wildly and he was afraid lest the strain be toomuch; but the girl shook her head and smiled and pointed to the topof the mountain. All at once they came to the top, the faded bluesky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the greatrocking circle which hemmed them in. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. Then he understood. Nowhere could he seethat reaching, menacing Hand. So long as she stood beside him, hewas safe. That was what she was trying to make him understand. 

He awoke, strangely content. As it happens sometimes, the ideastepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it moreclearly now than he had seen it in the dream. It filled histhoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. How tohold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem withwhich he struggled. 

When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer aninteresting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart andinvestigate: she was talismanic. So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. 

CHAPTER XVI

Ah cum began to worry. Each morning his inquiry was properlyanswered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could saywhen he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. Thetourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late inSeptember before the tide returned. So, then, fifty gold wasconsiderable; it would carry Ah Cum across four comparatively idlemonths. And because of this hanging gold Ah Cum left many doorsopen to doubt. 

Perhaps the doctor, the manager and the girl were in collusion:perhaps they had heard indirectly of the visit paid by Mr. O'Higgins, the American detective, and were waiting against thehour when they could assist the young man in a sudden dash forliberty. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour ofthe patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. 

One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock toambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubbyschooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run throughfire. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. There was only oneclean spot in the picture--the ship's wash (all white) thatfluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. The half-nudebrown bodies of the crew informed Ah Cum that the schooner had comeup from the South Seas. The boiling under her stern, however, toldhim nothing. He was not a sailor. It would not have interested himin the least to learn that the tub ran on two powers--wind and oil. 

Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, whileoverhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. One of the sampanswas hailed, and a rope-ladder was lowered. Shortly a man descendedlaboriously. He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavyShantung silk. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed_sola topee_--sun-helmet. He turned and shouted some orders to theKanaka crew, then nodded to the sampan's coolies, who bore upon thesweeps and headed for the Sha-mien. 

Ah Cum turned to his own affairs, blissfully ignorant that this tubwas, within forty-eight hours, to cost him fifty gold. What hadshifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party ofthree who were coming down the packet gang-plank. The trioexhibited that indecisive air with which Ah Cum was tolerablyfamiliar. They were looking for a guide. Forthwith he presented hiscard. 

The Reverend Henry Dolby had come to see China; for that purpose hehad, with his wife and daughter, traversed land and sea to theextent of ten thousand miles. Actually, he had come all thisdistance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract withFate, to be in Canton on this particular day. 

Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, heheard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys ofpidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. This wasfollowed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-roomdoor was flung open. 

The doctor jumped to his feet. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!"

"Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. 

"Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the diningroom. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. "

"Aw light!"

The two old friends held each other off at arms' length forinspection; this proving satisfactory, they began to prod andpummel one another affectionately. No hair to fall awry, no powderto displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. Women never throwthemselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance andthe damage perfectly. 

They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which hebegan munching. 

"Come up by the packet?"

"No; came up with _The Tigress_. "

"_The Tigress!_" The doctor laughed. "You'd have hit it off betterif you'd called her _The Sow_. I'll bet you haven't given her abucket of paint in three years. Oh, I know. You give her a daubhere and there where the rust shows. A man as rich as you are oughtto have a thousand-ton yacht. "

"Good enough for me. She's plenty clean below. "

"I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. Bring yourliveralong?"

"I sometimes wonder if I have any--if it isn't the hole where itwas that aches. "

"You look pretty fit. "

"Oh, a shave and a clean suit will do a lot. It's a pity youwouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so Icould have it filled nearer home. "

"I'd never set eyes on you again. You'd be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you'd be cutting out Canton. I'll bet you've been in Hong-Kongthese two weeks already, and never a line to me. "

"Didn't want any lectures spoiling a good time. "

"How long will you be here?"

"To-morrow night. It's sixteen days down, with _The Tigress_. TheSouth China will be dropping to a dead calm, and I want to usecanvas as much as I can. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. "

"What a life!"

"No worse than yours. "

"But I'm a poor man. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. You're rich. You could return to civilization and have a good timeall the rest of your days. "

"Two weeks in Hong-Kong, " replied McClintock, "is more thanenough. "

"But, Lord, man!--don't you ever get lonesome?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm too busy. "

"So am I. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty newrecords for the piano-player. Whenever I feel particularlygregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and playpoker for a couple of days. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. I can'tkeep a good man beyond three pay-days. They want some fun, andthere isn't any. No other white people within twenty miles. I'vecombed Hong-Kong. They all balk because there aren't anypetticoats. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. The job iseasy. The big pay strikes them; but when they find there's no placeto spend it, good-bye!"

Tom the cook came in with the chops and the potatoes--the doctor'sdinner--and McClintock fell to with a gusto which suggested thatthere was still some liver under his ribs. The doctor smoked hispipe thoughtfully. 

"Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?"

"Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. "Sounds as if I hadheard it, but I can't place it this minute. Certainly I never methim. Why?"

"I was just wondering. You say you need a man. Just how particularare you? Will he have to bring recommendations?"

"He will not. His face will be all I need. Have you got someone inmind for me?"

"Finish your breakfast and I'll tell you the story. " Ten minuteslater, the doctor, having marshalled all his facts chronologically, began his tale. He made it brief. "Of course, I haven't the leastevidence that the boy has done anything wrong; it's what I'd call ahunch; piecing this and that together. "

"Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a finecigar across the table. 

"Yes. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk forsomething to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. Pretty good stuff, some of it. The subject matter was generallyworthless, but the handling was well done. You're alwayscomplaining that you can't keep anybody more than three months. Ifmy conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. "

"I don't know, " said McClintock. 

"But you said you weren't particular. Moreover, he's a YaleUniversity man, and he'd be good company. "

"What's he know about copra and native talk?"

"Nothing, probably; but I'll wager he'll pick it all up fastenough. "

"A fugitive. "

"But that's the point--I don't know. But supposing he is? Supposinghe made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. I know something about men. "

"I agree to that. But it strikes me there's a nigger in thewoodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Why are you so anxious?"

"Oh, if you can't see your way. .. . "

"I'll have a look-see before I make any decision. It's youreagerness that bothers me. You seem to want this chap out ofCanton. "

The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. "There's a youngwoman. "

"I remember now!" interrupted McClintock. "This Enschede--themissioner. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. Hecalled Enschede the Bellower. Seems Enschede's daughter ran awayand left him, and he's combing the islands in search of her. He's ahundred miles sou'-east of me. "

"Well, this young lady I was about to describe, " said the doctor, "is Enschede's daughter. "

McClintock whistled. "Oho!" he said. "So she got away as far asthis, eh? But where does she come in?"

The doctor recounted that side of the tale. "And so I want the boyout of the way, " he concluded. "She in intensely impressionable andromantic, and probably she is giving the chap qualities he doesn'tpossess. All the talk in the world would not describe Ruth. Youhave to see her to understand. "

"And what are you going to do with her, supposing I'm fool enoughto take this boy with me?"

"Send her to my people, in case she cannot find her aunt. "

"I see. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. Well, I'll have a look-seeat this young De Maupassant. I know faces. Down in my part of theworld it's all a man has to go by. But if he's in bed, how the devilis he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhookcomes up to-morrow night. "

"I can get him aboard all right. A sea voyage under sail will bethe making of him. "

"Let's toddle over to the Victoria at once. I'll do anything inreason for you, old top; but no pig in a poke. Enschede's daughter. Things happen out this way. That's a queer yarn. "

"It's a queer girl. "

"With a face as square and flat as a bottle of gin. I know theDutch. " He sent the doctor a sly glance. 

"She's the most beautiful creature you ever set eyes on, " said thedoctor, warmly. "That's the whole difficulty. I want her to getforward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do withher. "

"Ship her back to her father"--sagely. 

"No. I tell you, that girl would jump into the sea, rather. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. No; she'dnever go back. Mac, she's the honestest human being I ever saw orheard of; and at the same time she is velvet over steel. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to anyplausible, attractive scoundrel. That's why I'm so anxious to gether to a haven. "

"Come along, then. You've got me interested and curious. If youwere ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. "

The doctor did not reply to this rather ambiguous statement, butpushed back his chair and signed to McClintock to follow. Theyfound Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head werepropped by pillows. 

McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. It was hisparticular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had givenhim a remarkable appraising eye. Within ten minutes he had readmuch more than had greeted his eye. A wave of pity went overhim--pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. The poor oldimbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever hehad seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of hergifts. 

As for the patient, his decision was immediate. Here was no crookedsoul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, butfundamentally honest. Given time and the right environment, and hewould outgrow these defects. Confidence in himself would strengthenhim. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full. With alittle more meat on him, he would be handsome. 

"My friend here, " said McClintock, "tells me you are looking for ajob. "

"Yes. "

"Well, I've a job open; but I don't want you to get the wrong ideaof it. In the first place, it will be damnably dull. You won'toften see white folks. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Agood deal of the food will be in tins. You'll live to hate chicken;and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink. But nobodydrinks on my island unless I offer it, which is seldom. If there isany drinking, I'll do it. "

Spurlock smiled at the doctor. 

"He'll not trouble you on the liquor side, Mac. "

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Corporation. The Ragged Edge. _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. ]

"So much the better. You will have a bungalow to yourself, "continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your ownaffair. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. I'm astickler about clothes and clean chins. How you dress when you'reloafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. If you like books and music, we'll get along. "

"Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like thoseof a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand. 

"I am going to give you a try. "

"When will you want me?"--with pitiful eagerness. "How shall I getto you?"

"My yacht is in the river. The doctor here says he can get youaboard to-morrow night. But understand me thoroughly: I am offeringyou this job because my friend wants to help you. I don't knowanything about you. I am gambling on his intuition. " McClintockpreferred to put it thus. 

"To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. Out ofthe beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed. 

The doctor reached over and laid his hand upon Spurlock's heart. "Thumping; but that's only excitement. You'll do. "

Then he looked at Ruth. Her face expressed nothing. That was one ofthe mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she hadalways at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calmthat no Occidental trick could dislodge. He could not tell by thelook of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she wouldbe free. 

"I have good news for you. If you do not find your aunt, my peoplewill take you under wing until you can stand on your own. "

"That is very kind of you, " she acknowledged. The lips of the masktwisted upward into a smile. 

The doctor missed the expression of terror and dismay that flittedacross Spurlock's face. 

Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. "I canreadily see, " he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a churchmouse. "

"What?" said the doctor, whose thoughts were in something of aturmoil. "What's that?"

"The old human cry of something for nothing; but with you it is inreverse. You are always doing something for nothing, and that iswhy I love you. If I offered you half of my possessions, you'ddoubtless wallop me on the jaw. To be with you is the best moraltonic I know. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. It is goodsometimes to walk with a man who can look God squarely in the face, as you can. "

"But wasn't I right? That pair?"

"I'll take the boy; he'll be a novelty. Amiable and good-looking. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. No matter whatthey do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, andto coddle them. "

"But, man, this chap hasn't fallen soft. "

"Ay, but he will. And here's the proof. You and the girl have madeit soft for him, and I'm going to make it soft for him. But what Ido is based upon the fact that he is one of those individuals whoare conscience-driven. Conscience drove him to this side of theworld, to this bed. It drives him to my island, where I can studyhim to my heart's content. He believes that he is leaving thisconscience behind; and I want to watch his disillusion on thisparticular point. Oh, don't worry. I shall always be kind to him; Isha'n't bait him. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me toobserve. But ship that girl east as soon as you can. "

"Why?"

McClintock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Because she's afire-opal, and to the world at large they bring bad luck. "

"Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? TheDawn Pearl!"

McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. He knew what he knew. 

 * * * * *

Spurlock possessed that extraordinary condition of the mind whichis called New England conscience. Buried under various ancestralsixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action andbewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extentthat it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all itspeculiar force. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soulrather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually threehundred years. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive;and for an educated man to become primitive is to become somethingof a child. 

From midnight until morning he was now left alone. He hadsufficient strength to wait upon himself. During the previous nighthe had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughtshad raced in an endless circle--action without progress. He wasreaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harryingconscience. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thoughtclearly, as a child thinks clearly. The primitive superstition ofhis Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of hiseducation disintegrated. The idea of Ruth as a talisman againstmisfortune--which he now recognized as a sick man's idea--faded ashis appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. But in itsstead--toward morning--there appeared another idea which appealed tohim as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to hisartistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Hewas and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually hewould be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. 

To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. Let the law put its hand on hisshoulder--if it could! But at present he was at liberty, and hepurposed to remain in that state. His conscience never told him togo back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard tothe deed itself. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; herequired no prison bars to accentuate this misery. 

Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to bluntthis persistent agony. It was not necessary to appease the wrath ofhuman society; it was necessary only to appease that of God for thebroken Commandment. To divide the agony into two spheres so thatone would mitigate the other. In fine, to marry Ruth (if she wouldconsent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his soul solong as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her, to work and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal, to shelter and guard her, to become accountable to God for herfuture. 

It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. In thishour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. 

So, then, when McClintock offered the coveted haven, Spurlockbecame afire to dramatize the idea. 

"Ruth!"

She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. All thesombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of herthoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. She did notwant to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. She would never return to herfather; that resolution was final. What she actually wanted was thepresent state of affairs to continue indefinitely. 

That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in herlife would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships(like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a newcircle. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her couragewas merely a shell to hide the lack. To have the present lengtheninto years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, farlonelier than she had ever been. As Spurlock called her name, shepaused and turned. 

"Dawn Pearl!. .. Come here!"

She moved to the side of the bed. "What is it?"

"Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!. .. As my wife!Both of us, never to be lonely again!. .. Will you marry me, Ruth?"

As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagernessfor love. Love and companionship. A fire enveloped her, a firewhich was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. She forgot her vital hatredof the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ ajot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; sheforgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. 

She would marry him. Because of the thought of love andcompanionship? No. Because here was the haven for which she hadbeen blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father'srights in her--the right to drag her back. The annihilation of theTerror which fascinated her and troubled her dreams o' nights. 

"You want me, then?" she said. 

"Oh, yes!--for always!"

He took her hands and pressed them upon his thrumming heart; and inthis attitude they remained for some time. 

Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compactwith a kiss. Down under the incalculable selfishness of thepenitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. Hecould not kiss Ruth. 

CHAPTER XVII

After the Ten Commandments have been spoken, conscience becomesless something inherent than something acquired. It is now a pointof view, differing widely, as the ignorant man differs from theeducated. You and I will agree upon the Ten Commandments; butperhaps we will refuse to accept the other's interpretation of theramifications. I step on my neighbour's feet, return and apologizebecause my acquired conscience orders me to do so; whereas youmight pass on without caring if your neighbour hopped about on onefoot. The inherent conscience keeps most of us away from jail, fromcourt, from the gallows; the acquired conscience helps us topreserve the little amenities of daily life. So then, the acquiredis the livelier phase, being driven into action daily; whereas theinherent may lie dormant for months, even years. 

To Spurlock, in this hour, his conscience stood over against theTen Commandments, one of which he had broken. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. He could not kiss Ruth because theacquired conscience--struggling on its way to limbo--made the idearepellant. Analysis would come later, when the primitiveconscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought andaction. 

Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense nolonger functioned in the accustomed groove. And yet he knew clearlyand definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to hisillness, though its accent might be. For a time he would be thegrim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience neverbroke in upon his thought for consideration. The fanatic has nosuch word in his vocabulary. 

Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, thatnever again would she be alone, that always this boy with thedreams would be depending upon her. 

A strange betrothal!--the primal idea of which was escape! Thegirl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of thefather in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she hadnow named the Terror: the boy, seeking self-crucifixion inexpiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo intodamnation!

It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed shewas loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination togive this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. Toher, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils whichpursued her. 

There was nothing on the Tablets of Moses that forebade Spurlockmarrying Ruth; there were no previous contracts. And yet, Spurlockwas afraid of the doctor; so was Ruth. They agreed that they mustmarry at once, this morning, before the doctor could suspect whatwas toward. The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections;he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. 

What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruthhad not the least conception, no more than a child. If she had anyidea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books:something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. But theclearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. Wherein shediffered but little from her young sisters. 

That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escapefrom the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desireto test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leapinto the dark. 

Spurlock possessed a vigorous intellect, critical, disquisitional, creative; and yet he saw nothing remarkable in the girl's readinessto marry him! An obsession is a blind spot. 

"We must marry at once! The doctor may put me on the boat and forceyou to remain behind, otherwise. "

"And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with readycomprehension. 

"That's it!"--eagerly. "Bring him back with you. Some of the hotelguests can act as witnesses. Make haste!"

Ruth hurried off to her own room. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. Her wedding gown! She wondered if thespirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. 

"All I want is to be happy!" she said aloud, as if she were askingfor something of such ordinary value that God would readily accordit to her because there was so little demand for the commodity. 

Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. Whenever ecstasy--any kind of ecstasy--filled her heart tobursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. 

Fate has two methods of procedure--the sudden and thelong-drawn-out. In some instances she tantalizes the victim foryears and mocks him in the end. In others, she acts with the speedand surety of the loosed arrow. In the present instance she did notwant any interference; she did not want the doctor's wisdom to edgein between these two young fools and spoil the drama. So she broughtupon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife anddaughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. Ruth met him inthe hall as he was following his family into the dining room. Sherecognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directnessof speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. 

"To be sure I will, my child. I will be up with my wife anddaughter after lunch. "

"We'll be waiting for you. You are very kind. " Ruth turned backtoward the stairs. 

Later, when the Reverend Henry Dolby entered the Spurlock room, hiswife and daughter trailing amusedly behind him, and beheld thestrained eagerness on the two young faces, he smiled inwardly andindulgently. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past hadbeen he neither cared nor craved to know. Their future would beglorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of theiryoung heads. Of course, at home there would have been questions. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license beenprocured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles ofwedlock were necessary. 

So, forthwith, without any preliminaries beyond introductions, hebegan the ceremony; and shortly Ruth Enschede became Ruth Spurlock, for better or for worse. Spurlock gave his full name andtremblingly inscribed it upon the certificate of marriage. 

The customary gold band was missing; but a soft gold Chinese ringSpurlock had picked up in Singapore--the characters representinggood luck and prosperity--was slipped over Ruth's third finger. 

"There is no fee, " said Dolby. "I am very happy to be of service toyou. And I wish you all the happiness in the world. "

Mrs. Dolby was portly and handsome. There were lines in her facethat age had not put there. Guiding this man of hers over thetroubled sea of life had engraved these lines. He was the trueoptimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefsand storms, she accepted the double buffets. 

This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, shefelt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room--if only in theloneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousandsof miles from home. Not once during the ceremony did the two lookat each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man whowas forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared theworld might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. 

Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. Ruthfelt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. She bent down. 

"You are all right?"--anxiously. 

"Yes . .. But dreadfully tired. "

Mrs. Dolby smiled. It was the moment for smiles. She approachedRuth with open arms; and something in the way the child came intothat kindly embrace hurt the older woman to the point of tears. 

These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving theeternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always rememberthat embrace. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what wasmore, full of understanding. It was in fact the first embrace ofmotherhood she had ever known. Even after this woman had gone, itseemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. 

Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese weddingprocession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that firstday: the gorgeous palanquin, the tom-toms, the weird music, theribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. It was surely oddthat her thought should pick up that picture and recast it sovividly. 

At half after five that afternoon the doctor and his friendMcClintock entered the office of the Victoria. 

"It's a great world, " was the manager's greeting. 

"So it is, " the doctor agreed. "But what, may I ask, arouses thethought?"

The doctor was in high good humour. Within forty-eight hours thegirl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the SouthChina Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. 

"Then you haven't heard?"

"Of what?"

"Well, well!" cried the manager, delighted at the idea ofsurprising the doctor. "Miss Enschede and Mr. Spurlock--for that'shis real name--were married at high noon. "

Emptiness; that was the doctor's initial sensation: his vitals hadbeen whisked out of him and the earth from under his feet. All hisinterest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now betranslated into a single word--love. Wanted her out of the waybecause he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, atfifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind andunreasoning anger. He took the first step toward the stairs, andmet the restraining hand of McClintock. 

"Steady, old top! What are you going to do?"

"The damned scoundrel!"

"I told you that child was opal. "

"She? My God, the pity of it! She knows nothing of life. She nomore realizes what she has done than a child of eight. Marriage!. .. Without the least conception of the physical and moralresponsibilities! It's a crime, Mac!"

"But what can you do?" McClintock turned to the manager. "'It wasall perfectly legal?

"My word for it. The Reverend Henry Dolby performed the cermony, and his wife and daughter were witnesses. "

"When you heard what was going on, why didn't you send for me?"

"I didn't know it was going on. I heard only after it was allover. "

"If he could stand on two feet, I'd break every bone in hisworthless body!"

McClintock said soothingly: "But that wouldn't nullify themarriage, old boy. I know. Thing's upset you a bit. Go easy. "

"But, Mac . . . !"

"I understand, " interrupted McClintock. Then, in a whisper: "Butthere's no reason why the whole hotel should. "

The doctor relaxed. "I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. I've got to know why. And what will they do, and where will theygo?"

"With me--the both of them. So far as I'm concerned, nothing couldplease me more. A married man!--the kind I've never been able tolure down there! But keep your temper in check. Don't lay it all tothe boy. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. I'll wait for youdown here. "

When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces ofthe culprits, he laughed brokenly. Two children, who had beencaught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which laydoubt and fear. 

Ruth came to him directly. "You are angry?"

"Very. You don't realize what you have done. "

"My courage gave out. The thought of going back!--the thought ofthe unknown out there!--" with a tragic gesture toward the east. "Icouldn't go on!"

"You'll need something more than courage now. But no more of that. What is done cannot be undone. I want to talk to Mr. Spurlock. Willyou leave us for a few minutes?"

"You are not going to be harsh?"

"I wish to talk about the future. "

"Very well. "

She departed reluctantly. The doctor walked over to the bed, foldedhis arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyesof his patient. 

"Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?"he began. This did not affect Spurlock. "Your name is Spurlock?"

"It is. "

"Why did you use the name of Taber?"

"To keep my real name out of the mess I expected to make of myselfover here. "

"That's frank enough, " the doctor admitted astonishedly. So far theboy's mind was clear. "But to drag this innocent child into themuck! With her head full of book nonsense--love stories and fairystories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumbleupon some day? I don't care about you. The world is known to you. Ican see that you were somebody, in another day. But this child! . .. It's a damnable business!"

"I shall defend her and protect her with every drop of blood in mybody!" replied the Flagellant. 

The intensity of the eyes and the defiant tone bewildered thedoctor, who found his well-constructed jeremiad without a platform. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgettinghis promise to McClintock to be temperate. 

"When I went through your trunk that first night, I discovered anenvelope filled with manuscripts. Later, at the bottom of thatenvelope I found a letter. "

"To be opened in case of my death, " added Spurlock. From under hispillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. "Here, take this andget the letter and open and read it. Would you tell her . .. Now?"his eyes flaming with mockery. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. The act wasmechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searchingabout for a new vent. He was a just man, and he did not care tostart any thunder which was not based upon fairness. He had no wishto go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. He had already shown thecovering envelope and its instructions to Ruth, and she had ignoredor misunderstood the warning. The boy was right. Ruth could not betold now. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needlesscruelty to give her a push toward it. But all these hours, tryingto teach the child wariness toward life, and the moment his backwas turned, this!

He was, perhaps, still dazed by the inner revelation--his owninterest in Ruth. The haste to send her upon her way now had butone interpretation--the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end inoffering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which hadhappened--the love of a man who was in all probability older thanher father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was soridiculous. 

He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as achagrined lover. He dropped the key on the counterpane. 

"If I could only make you realize what you have done, " he said, lamely. 

"I know exactly what I have done, " replied Spurlock. "She is mylawful wife. "

"I should have opened that letter in the beginning, " said thedoctor. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. Had you died, Ishould have fully obeyed the instructions on that envelope. Youwill make her suffer. "

"For every hurt she has, I shall have two. I did not lay any trapsfor her. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. "

"Ah, yes; that's all very well. But when she learns that you are afugitive from justice. .. . "

"What proof have you that I am?"--was the return bolt. 

"A knowledge of the ways of men. I don't know what you have done; Idon't want to know now. But God will punish you for what you havedone this day. "

"As for that, I don't say. But I shall take care of Ruth, work forher and fight for her. " A prophecy which was to be fulfilled in asingular way. "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter. I'm nomollycoddle. I have only one question to ask you. "

"And what might that be?"

"Will McClintock take us both?"

"You took that chance. There has never been a white woman atMcClintock's. "

He paused, and not without malice. He was human. The pauselengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt theset mockery of Spurlock's mouth. 

"You begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, andnothing else. There are only a few jobs over here for a man of yourtype; and even these are more or less hopeless if you haven'ttrained mechanical ability. " Then he became merciful. "ButMcClintock agrees to take you both--because he's as big a fool as Iam. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. You will beunder the eye of the best friend I have; and if you do not treatthat child for what she is--an innocent angel--I promise to huntyou across the wide world and kill you with bare hands. "

Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. "And on my part, I shallnot lift a hand to defend myself. "

"I wish I could have foreseen. "

"That is to say, you wish you had let me die?"

"That was the thought. "

This frankness rather subdued Spurlock. His shoulders relaxed andhis gaze wavered. "Perhaps that would have been best. "

"But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wreckedyour own life and now you've wrecked hers. She doesn't love you;she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read innovels. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by whichto govern her acts. I am a physician first, which gives the man inme a secondary part. You have just passed through rather a severephysical struggle; just as previously to your collapse you had gonethrough some terrific mental strain. Your mind is still subtlysick. The man in me would like to break every bone in your body, but the physician understands that you don't actually realize whatyou have done. But in a little while you will awake; and if thereis a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day'swork. "

Spurlock closed his eyes. Expiation. He felt the first sting of thewhip. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only thesensation of exaltation. 

"If you two loved each other, " went on the doctor, "there would besomething to stand on--a reason why for this madness. I can fairlyunderstand Ruth; but you. .. !"

"Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried inanguish? Twenty-four hours a day to think in, alone?. .. Perhaps Idid not want to go mad from loneliness. I will tell you this much, because you have been kind. It is true that I do not love Ruth; butI swear to you, before the God of my fathers, that she shall neverknow it!"

"I'll be getting along. " The doctor ran his fingers through hishair, despairingly. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in theworld can't undo it. I'll put you aboard _The Tigress_ to-morrowafter sundown. But remember my warning, and play the game!"

Spurlock closed his eyes again. The doctor turned quickly and madefor the door, which he opened and shut gently because he wasassured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign ofviolence. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo whatwas done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown upin his own lonely heart. 

Opals. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest thetruth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent womenwho make havoc with the hearts of men. 

Marriage!--and no woman by to tell the child what it was! Theshocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly--andbitterly. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, somehidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would becomea millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her anobject of pity and contempt. 

There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shamefulshabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. The picture mighteasily apply to _The Tigress_: outwardly disreputable, but richlyand comfortably appointed below. The flush deck was without wells. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under aspread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Amidshipthere was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab anddirty. 

The dining saloon was done in mahogany and sandalwood, with eightcabins, four to port and four to starboard. The bed-and table-linenwere of the finest texture. From the centre of the ceiling hung areplica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. The odour of coconutprevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasionedpleasure junket, _The Tigress_ was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. 

McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding himannually about half a million nuts. Natives brought him an equalamount from the neighbouring islands. As the palm bears nutsperennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making thebeach. Thus, McClintock carried to Copeley's press about half amillion pounds of copra. There was a very substantial profit in thetransaction, for he paid the natives in commodities--colouredcotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, householdutensils, cutlery and glass gewgaws. It was perfectly legitimate. Money was not necessary; indeed, it would have embarrassed allconcerned. . A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. In the South Seas, money is the eliminatedmiddleman. 

Where the islands are grouped, men discard the use of geographicalnames and simply refer to "McClintock's" or "Copeley's, " to thelogical dictator of this or that island. 

 * * * * *

At sundown Spurlock was brought aboard and put into cabin 2, whileRuth was assigned to cabin 4, adjoining. From the Sha-mien to theyacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in thesemi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him. 

Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented anextraordinary fascination. She had suddenly become as the jewels ofthe Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queerabsorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he hadput her outside that circle. His lawful wife; but nothing more;beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. 

An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it wasincredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. Therewere menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; shewas also young and physically beautiful--his lawful wife. He hadput himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now avestal in the temple. Such was the condition of his mind that thedanger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Here would be thetrue test of his strength. Upon this island whither he was boundthere would be no diversions, breathing spells; the battle would beconstant. 

All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over thisphase which was wholly suppositional. He did not love Ruth. Theywould be partners only in loneliness. He would provide thenecessities of life and protect her. He would teach her all he knewof life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, shewould be able to defend herself. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existenttroubles. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of thedoctor. 

"Good-bye, young man; and good luck. "

"You are offering your hand to me?"

"Without reservations. " The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendlypressure. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope. Play fair withher. You don't know what you have got; I do. Let her have her ownway in all things, for she will always be just. "

Spurlock turned aside his head as he replied: "Words are sometimesuseless things. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if Icould make you understand. "

"Probably not. The thing is done. The main idea now is of thefuture. You will have lots of time on your hands. Get out your padand pencil. Go to it. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of yourpeculiar bent. "

"You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there waseagerness in his eyes. "Rot, weren't they?"

"No. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to createyet. Go to it; and the best of luck!"

He went out. This farewell had been particularly distasteful tohim. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demandsphysical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases. Heproceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting forhim by the ladder. He handed Ruth a letter. 

"What is this?" she wanted to know. 

"A hundred dollars which was left from your husband's money. "

"Would you be angry if I offered it to you?"

"Very. Don't worry about me. "

"You are the kindest man I have ever known, " said Ruth, unashamedof her tears. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. It isuseless to talk. I could never make you understand. "

Almost the identical words of the boy. "Will you write, " asked thedoctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?"

"Oh, yes!"

"The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination;get him started with his writing. Remember, some day you and I aregoing to have that book. " He patted her hand. "Good-bye, Mac. Don'tforget to cut out all effervescent water. If you will have yourpeg, take it with plain water. You'll be along next spring?"

"If the old tub will float. I'll watch over these infants, ifthat's your worry. Good-bye. "

The doctor went down the side to the waiting sampan, which at onceset out for the Sha-mien. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed therocking light until it vanished. One more passer-by; and alwayswould she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. 

"Yon's a dear man, " said McClintock. His natal burr was always inevidence when he was sentimentally affected. He knocked his pipe onthe teak rail. "Took a great fancy to you. Wants me to look out foryou a bit. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new toyou. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. "

"Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?"

"No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. I'm a bit daffyabout music. "

"That sounds funny . .. To play it with your feet!"

McClintock laughed. "It's a pump, like an organ. "

"Oh, I see. What a wonderful world it is!" Music. She shuddered. 

"Ay. Well, I'll be getting this tub under way. "

Ruth walked to the companion. It was one of those old sliding trapaffairs, narrow and steep of descent. She went down, feeling ratherthan seeing the way. The door of cabin 2 was open. Someone hadthoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. 

She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the thresholdand stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. In thesubdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as ahand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into theposition of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to thedivine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be writtenwith her heart's blood. 

What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that thedivine fire was hers. 

"Ruth?" he called. 

She entered and approached the bunk. "I thought you were asleep. Isthere anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, andfound it without fever. She had worried in fear that the excitementwould be too much for him. 

"Call me Hoddy. That is what my mother used to call me. "

"Hoddy, " she repeated. "I shall like to call you that. But now youmust be quiet; there's been too much excitement. Knock on thepartition if you want anything during the might. I awaken easily. Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out. 

For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. He heard thepanting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchorchains. Presently he felt motion. He chuckled. The vast ironichumour of it: he was starting on his honeymoon!

CHAPTER XIX

Meanwhile the doctor, upon returning to his office, found Ah Cum inthe waiting room. "Why, hello, Ah Cum! What's the trouble?"

Ah Cum took his hands from his sleeves. "I should like to knowwhere Mr. Spurlock has gone. "

"Did he owe you money?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then why do you wish to know?"

Ah Cum pondered. "I have a client who is very much interested inMr. Spurlock. He was here shortly after the young man was takenill. "

"Ah. What was this man?"

"A detective from the States. "

"Why didn't he arrest Mr. Spurlock then?"

"I imagine that Mr. O'Higgins is rather a kindly man. He couldn'thave taken Mr. Spurlock back to Hong-Kong with him, so heconsidered it would be needless to give an additional shock. Heasked me to watch Mr. Spurlock's movements and report progress. Headmitted that it would bore him to dally here in Canton, with thepleasures of Hong-Kong so close. "

The doctor caught the irony, and he warmed a little. "I'm afraid Imust decline to tell you. Do you know what Spurlock has done?"

"Mr. O'Higgins did not confide in me. But he told me this much, that no matter how far Mr. Spurlock went, it would not be farenough. "

A detective. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. Howeasily an evil thought could penetrate a normally decent mind! Allhe had to do was to disclose Spurlock's destination, and in a fewmonths Ruth would be free. For it was but logical that she wouldseek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married afugitive from justice. McClintock would be on hand to tell her howand where to obtain this freedom. He stopped abruptly before theapparently incurious Chinaman. 

"Your detective has been remiss in his duty; let him suffer forit. "

"Personally, I am neutral, " said Ah Cum. "I wish merely to come outof this bargain honourably. It would make the young wife unhappy. "

"Very. "

"There was a yacht in the river?"

"I have nothing to say. "

"By the name of _The Tigress_?"

The doctor smiled, but shook his head. He sent a speculative glanceat the immobile yellow face. Was Ah Cum offering him an opportunityto warn Spurlock? But should he warn the boy? Why not let himimagine himself secure? The thunderbolt would be launched soonenough. 

"I haven't a word to say, Ah Cum, not a word. "

"Then I wish you good night. "

Ah Cum went directly to the telegraph office, and his message wasdevoted particularly to a description of _The Tigress_. Spurlockhad been taken aboard that yacht with the Kanaka crew, because _TheTigress_ was the only ship marked for departure that night. Ah Cumwas not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. One of his chaircoolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcherto the sampan in the canal. There were three other ships at anchor;but as two would be making Shanghai and one rounding to Singaporetwo days hence, it was logically certain that no fugitive wouldseek haven in one of these. 

But whither _The Tigress_ was bound or who the owner was lay beyondthe reach of Ah Cum's deductions. He did not particularly care. Itwas enough that Spurlock had been taken aboard _The Tigress_. 

He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. He feared to antagonize that distinguished person. The Victoria wasAh Cum's bread and butter. 

The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceededhomeward, chuckling occasionally. The Yale spirit!

James Boyle O'Higgins was, as the saying goes, somewhat out ofluck. Ah Cum's wire reached the Hong-Kong Hotel promptly enough;but O'Higgins was on board a United States cruiser, witnessing about between a British sailor and a sergeant in the U. S. Marines. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested theBritisher, in seven rounds. O'Higgins returned to town and made anight of it, nothing very wild, nothing very desperate. A modestdrinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over inKowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five inthe morning. 

When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged thefast motor-boat he had previously bespoken against the need, andstarted for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking _TheTigress_. He hung round those broad waters from noon until threeand realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. He made Hong-Kong at dusk:wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was inno wise discouraged. The girl was in the game now, and thatnarrowed the circle. 

The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, ablack cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. When the doctor camein--he had just finished his breakfast--O'Higgins rose andpresented his card. Upon reading the name, the doctor's eyebrowswent up. 

"I rather fancy, as you Britishers say, that you know the nature ofmy visit?"

"I'm an American. "

"Fine!" said O'Higgins, jovially. "We won't have any troubleunderstanding each other; same language. There's nothing on thecard to indicate it, but I'm a detective. "

O'Higgins threw out his chest, gave it a pat, and smiled. Thissmile warned the doctor not to underestimate the man. O'Higgins wasall that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulkypoliceman in civilian clothes. The blue jowl, the fat-liddedeyes--now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard--the bullet head, thepudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformationwith the doctor's olden mental picture. 

"Yes; I know I look it, " said O'Higgins, amiably. 

The doctor laughed. But he sobered instantly as he recollected thatO'Higgins had found Spurlock once. Journeying blindly half wayacross the world, this man had found his quarry. 

"I never wear false whiskers, " went on O'Higgins. "The onlydisguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as apig at a Mahomedan dinner. " O'Higgins was disarming the doctor. "Won't you sit down?"

"I beg your pardon! Come into the consultation office"; and thedoctor led the way. "What is it you want of me?"

"All you know about this young fellow Spurlock. "

"What has he done?"

"He has just naturally peeved his Uncle Sam. Now, you know where heis bound. "

"Did Ah Cum advise you?"

"He did pretty well for a Chinaman. But that's his Americaneducation. Now, it won't do a bit of good to warn Spurlock. Hecarries with him something that will mark him anywhere--the girl. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance. You see, we guys bump upagainst so much of the seamy side that we look upon everybody asguilty until proved innocent, which is hind-side-to. The secondlook told me I was wrong. "

"I'm going to put one question, " interrupted the doctor. "Was thereany other woman back there in the States?"

"Nary a female. Oh, they are married fast. What are you going totell me?"

"Nothing. " But the doctor softened the refusal by smiling. 

"For the sake of the girl. Well, I don't blame you on that ground. If the boy was legging it alone. .. . "

"I'm a doctor. I took him out of the hands of death. Unless he haskilled someone. I sha'n't utter a word. "

"Killed someone?" O'Higgins laughed. "He wouldn't hurt a rabbit. "

"You won't tell me what he has done?"

"If you'll tell me where he's heading. "

"You can give me a little of his history, can't you? Somethingabout his people?"

"Oh, his folks were all right. His father and mother are gone now. Rich folks, once. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it'sthe old story of father making it too easy. It's always hard workfor a rich man's son to stand alone. Then you won't tell me wherehe's going?"

"I will tell you six months from now. "

"Prolonging the misery. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be sohard to find as formerly. You see, it's like this. The boss says tome: 'Higg, here's a guy we want back. He's down in Patagoniasomewhere. ' So I go to Patagonia. I know South America and Canadalike the lines in my hand. This is my first venture over here. Thepoint is, I know all the tricks in finding a man. Sure, I lose oneoccasionally--if he stays in New York. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis. You may not know it, but it's easier to find aguy that's gone far than it is when he lays dogo in little old NewYork. "

"You had Spurlock once. "

O'Higgins grinned. "Women are always balling up and muddling cleancases. If this girl hadn't busted into the game, Spurlock wouldstill be at the hotel. "

The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this. Ruth out of thepicture, he wouldn't have concerned himself so eagerly in regard toSpurlock's departure. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Higgins, but I decline to give you the leastinformation. "

The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto. "And I'll bet a doughnut that boy in his soul is crazy to have itover with. Well-born, well-educated; those are the lads that pay infull. "

"You're a philosopher, too. I'll tell you something. One of thereasons why I decline to talk is this: that boy's punishment willbe enough. "

"That's not my game. They order me to get my man, and I get him. There ends my duty. What they do with him afterward is off myticket, no concern of James Boyle; they can lock him up or let himgo. Say, how about this Ah Cum: is he honest?"

"As the day is long. "

"Didn't know but what I'd been out-bid. I offered him a hundred towatch Spurlock. Fifty in advance. This morning I met him at thedock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. A queer nut. Imagineany one on this side refusing fifty bucks! Well, I'll be toddlingalong. Don't feel fussed upon my account. I get your side allright. H'm!"

Over the desk, on the wall, was a map of the South Pacificarchipelagoes, embossed by a number of little circles drawn in redink. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. 

"That's your hunting ground, " said the doctor. 

"It's a whale of a place. Ten thousand islands, and each one goodfor a night's rest. Why, that boy could hide for thirtyyears--without the girl. She's my meal-ticket. What are those littlered circles?" O'Higgins asked, rising and inspecting the map. A filmof dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. For a momentO'Higgins had hoped that the ink applications would be recent. "Been to those places?"

"No. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the tripnever materialized. Too busy. "

"That's the way it goes. Well, I'll take myself off. But if I wereyou, I shouldn't warn Spurlock. Let him have his honeymoon. Solong. "

For a long time after O'Higgins had gone the doctor rocked in hisswivel chair, his glance directed at the map. In all his life hehad never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurthim. The Dawn Pearl. It did not seem quite fair. He had pluggedalong, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. And then thisgirl had to sweep into and out of his life! He recalledMcClintock's comment about Spurlock being the kind that fell soft. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy hishoneymoon. 

Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling overthis and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon thechase. Mac's. In one of the little red circles the doctor hadtraced that abbreviation. That could signify nothing except thatthe doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in oneof those archipelagoes. But the sheer immensity of the tract! JamesBoyle was certainly up against it, hard. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. She wouldn't be able to pass byanywhere without folks turning their heads. 

Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. But what the deuce! Hewas human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. He had foundSpurlock. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe asin the lock-up. Why shouldn't James Boyle pinch out a little funwhile waiting? How was he to anticipate the girl and the sea-trampcalled _The Tigress_? Something that wasn't in the play at all buthad walked out of the scenery like the historical black cat?

"I'll have to punish a lot of tobacco to get the kinks out of this. Sure Mike!"

At the hotel he wrote a long letter to his chief, explaining everydetail of the fizzle. Later he dispatched a cable announcing theescape and the sending of the letter. When he returned to Hong-Kong, there was a reply to his cable:

"Hang on. Find that boy. "

Some order. South America was big; but ten thousand islands, scattered all over the biggest ocean on the map! Nearly all of themclear of the ship lanes and beaten tracks! The best thing he coulddo would be to call up the Quai d'Orsay and turn over the job toLecocq. Only a book detective could dope this out. 

What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whiskyand a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. He regretted now thatin his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. Thebarmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. So hemarched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourablediscovery. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in Hong-Kong, James Boylewould soon locate him. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: anAmerican bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive theproper meed of sympathy. 

The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild. The hotel on the Peak hadthe aspect of a fairy castle. The streets were full of colour. O'Higgins wandered into this street and that, studying the signsand resenting the Britisher's wariness in using too much tin andpaint. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recrossstreets. 

Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. 

"Solid ivory!" he said aloud; "solid from dome to neck! That'sJames Boyle in the family group. And if I hadn't been thirsty, thatpoor boob would have made a sure getaway and left James Boyle highand dry among the moth-balls! Oh, the old dome works once every sooften. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!"

What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in awindow. Marine Insurance. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. What could be simpler than, with a set of inquiries relative to aSouth Sea tramp registered as _The Tigress_, to make a tour of allthe marine insurance companies in Hong-Kong? O'Higgins proceeded toput the idea into action; and by noon he had in his possession agood working history of the owner of _The Tigress_ and the exactlatitude and longitude of his island. 

He cabled to New York: "Probable destination known. "

"Make it positive, " was the brisk reply. 

O'Higgins made it positive; but it required five weeks of brokenvoyages: with dilapidated hotels, poor food, poor tobacco, andevil-smelling tramps. It took a deal of thought to cast acomprehensive cable, for it had to include where Spurlock was, whathe was doing, and the fact that O'Higgins's letter of credit wouldnot now carry him and Spurlock to San Francisco. The reply hereceived this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment. 

"Good work. Come home alone. "

CHAPTER XX

To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behindhim, shutting out the old world. He was safe, out of the beatentrack, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. Theterrific mental tension of the past few months--that had held hisbodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation--became as a dream;and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. On the secondday out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to theforemast and back. The will to live had returned. 

For five days _The Tigress_ chugged her way across the burnishedSouth China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with herdestiny. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this newthingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normallyshe was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things theycalled lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked andthreatened to ruin her temper. 

On the sixth day, however, they made the strong southwest trade, and broke out the canvas, stout if dirty; and _The Tigress_answered as a bird released. Taking the wind was her business inlife. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her wayof yawning when she awoke. 

The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward theforemast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow overhim. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock hadbeen doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a goodsailor, which was true. He loved the sea, and could give a goodaccount of himself in any weather. And this was an adventure ofwhich he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the SouthSeas. 

There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. There were swiftactions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut aslack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Thesea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he hadever seen. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jade-coloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smackingamidships. Once the ship faltered, and the tip of this jade wallbroke into a million gems and splashed him liberally. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. 

This laughter released something that had been striving forexpression--her own natural buoyancy. She became as _The Tigress_, a free thing. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, andlaughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. There was no past, nofuture, only this exhilarating present. Yesterday!--who cared?To-morrow!--who knew?

"Porpoise, " she said, touching his hand. 

"Fox-terriers of the sea; friends with every ship that comes along. Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said. 

"When you are stronger we'll go up to the cutwater and watch themfrom there. "

"I have . . . From many ships. "

A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. Hisvoice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understoodthat something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. Butshe did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. 

What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone hadpicked up his trail. The acid of this incertitude had disintegratedhis nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. But that was all over. Nobody could possibly find him now. The doctor would never betrayhim. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfectsecurity. 

McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Spurlock, holding out his hand. 

McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. He rather liked the"sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit. 

"And I want to thank you, too, " supplemented Ruth. 

"Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. I needed a man the worst kind of way--aman I could keep for at least six months. What do you think of theold tub?"

"She's wonderful!" cried Ruth. "I love her already. I had no ideashe could go so fast. "

"Know anything about ships?"

"This kind. I have seen many of them. Once a sick sailor drew threepictures for me and set down every stay and brace andsail--square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. But this is the first timeI ever sailed on any one of the three. And I find I can't tell onestay from another!"

McClintock laughed. "You can't go to sea with a book of rules. _TheTigress_ is second-hand, built for coast-trade. There used to be anafter deckhouse and a shallow well for the wheel; but I changedthat. Wanted a clean sweep for elbow-room. Of course I ought tohave some lights over the saloon; but by leaving all the cabindoors open in the daytime, there's plenty of daylight. She's notfor pleasure, but for work. Some day I'm going to paint her; butthat will be when I've retired. "

Ruth laughed. "The doctor said something about that. "

"I'll tell you really why I keep her in peeled paint. Natives arequeer. I have established a fine trade. She is known everywherewithin the radius of five hundred miles. But if I painted her asI'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd haveto build up confidence all over again. I did not know you spokeKanaka, " he broke off. 

"So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I canneither read nor write it. "

"I never heard of anybody who could, " declared McClintock. "I havehad Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. The Kanaka--which means man--is a Sandwich Islander, with a Malayanbase. He's the only native I trust in these parts. My boys are allSandwich Island born. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he werereared in the Vatican. "

Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. 

"What's that?" demanded McClintock. 

"The idea of a Malay, born Mahometan, being reared in the Vatican, hit me as funny. "

"It would be funny--just as a trustworthy Malay would be funny. Ihave a hundred of them--mixed blood--on my island, and they arealways rooking me. But none ever puts his foot on this boat. To-morrow we'll raise our first island. And from then on we'll seethem, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. I've opened thecase of books. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. Takeyour pick, Mrs. Spurlock. "

The shock of hearing this title pronounced was equally distributedbetween Ruth and her husband; but it aroused two absolutelydifferent emotions. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of thegrim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship wasall he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she wasexquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and skyand sail. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential inthis man's life, and she would always be happy because he wouldalways be needing her. 

"You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy, " she said. "I'll fetch it. "

She made the companion without touching stay or rail, whichnecessitated a fine sense of balance, for there was a growingvigour to the wind and a corresponding lift to the roll of the sea. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printedflowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg insilk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. 

Silk. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozenpairs of silk stockings. She did not question or analyze thecraving; she took the plunge joyously. It was the first expressionof the mother's blood. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion;it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will haveher bit of silk. 

McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanishedbelow; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, whohad closed his eyes. She would always be waiting upon this boy, hemused. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but thehabit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would becomethe normal role, hers to give and his to receive. He wondered ifthe young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragiclottery called marriage. Probably hadn't. As for that, what manever had?

"That's a remarkable young woman, " he offered, merely to note whateffect it would have. 

Spurlock looked up. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwinkthis keen-eyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. He was continuallydramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he hadelected to play. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. "Did youever see the like of her?"

"No, " answered McClintock, gravely. "I wonder how she picked upKanaka? On her island they don't talk Kanaka lingo. "

Her island! How well he knew it, thought Spurlock, for all helacked the name and whereabouts! Suddenly a new thought arose andbuffeted him. How little he knew about Ruth--the background fromwhich she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, thather mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, andthat, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to anaunt in the States. But what did he know beyond these facts?Nothing, clearly. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but themore he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. Thereal Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind thewalls of Agra Fort. But after all, what did it matter whether shehad secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; andone did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. 

"She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as longas she can remember. "

"I see. I deal with the Malay mostly; but twice a year I visitislands occupied by the true blacks, recently cured of theirancient taste for long-pig. "

"What's that?"

"Think it over, " said McClintock, grimly. 

"Good Lord!--cannibals?"

"Aye. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up thecoconut dance for you. The Malays have one, too, but it's a rankimitation, tom-toms and all. But what I want to get at is this. Ifyour wife can coach you a bit in native lingo, it will help allround. I have two Malay clerks in the store; but I'm obliged tohave a white man to watch over them, or they'd clean me out. Singlepearls--Lord knows where they come from!--are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. My boysbuy them with beads or bolts of calico of mine. They steal over toCopeley's at night and dispose of the pearl for cash. That's how Ifinally got wind of it. Primarily your job will be to balance thestores against the influx of coconut and keep an eye on these boys. There'll be busy days and idle. Everything goes--the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. If youfall upon a good pearl, buy it in barter and pay me out of yoursalary. "

"Pearls!"

"Sounds romantic, eh? Well, forty years ago the pearl gamehereabouts was romantic; but there's only one real pearl regionleft--the Persian Gulf. In these waters the shell has about givenout. Still, they bob up occasionally. I need a white man, if onlyto talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of yourintelligence. The doctor said you wrote. "

"Trying to. "

"Well, you'll have lots of time down there. "

Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft, convinced that he was going to have something far more interestingthan books to read. 

Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. He was vaguelyuneasy; he knew not what about. Here was the same Ruth who had lefthim a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet. .. !

On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strongenough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean uponthe rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employerat lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. 

Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of hisopinions. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. Butwhenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlockbroke into saving laughter. 

McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. "I wouldn't give abetel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believedhimself in the right. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. "

"Oh, no!" Ruth protested. "I have so much to learn. "

"Aye, " said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sentSpurlock's glance to his plate. 

"All my life I've dreamed of something like this, " he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. "Theseislands that come out of nowhere, like transparent amethyst, thatdeepen to sapphire, and then become thickly green! And always thewhite coral sand rimming them--emeralds set in pearls!"

"'A thing of beauty is a joy forever!'" quoted McClintock. "But Ilike Bobby Burns best. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for everyache and joy I've had. "

So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar withthe exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of thepathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold toenter the talk. 

"There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful, "she said. 

"That's a fine tale, " said Spurlock. "The end is the most beautifulin English literature. 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known. ' That has always haunted me. "

"I liked that, too, " she replied; "but it wasn't that I had inmind. Here it is. " She opened the book which she had brought to thetable. "'A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every humancreature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery toevery other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city atnight, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses itsown secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its ownsecret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands ofbreasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heartnearest it!' . .. It kind of terrifies me, " said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. "No matterhow much I tell of myself, I shall always keep something back. Nomatter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. "

Neither man spoke. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe andSpurlock into his coffee cup. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. The Scot understoodthat, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband aquestion, opening a door if he cared to enter. 

So the young fool had not told her! McClintock had suspected asmuch. Everything in this world changed--except human folly. Thisgirl was strong and vital: how would she take it when she learnedthat she had cast her lot with a fugitive from justice? ForMcClintock was certain that Spurlock was a hunted man. Well, well;all he himself could do would be to watch this singular dramaunroll. 

The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leanedover the rail, their shoulders touching. It might have been themoon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might havebeen his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in hishands and kissed her on the mouth. 

"Oh!" she gasped. "I did not know . .. That it was . .. Like that!"She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held themtightly. "Please, Hoddy, always tell me when do I things wrong. Inever want you to be ashamed of me. I will do anything andeverything I can to become your equal. "

"You will never become that, Ruth. But if God is kind to me, someday I may climb up to where you are. I'd like to be alone now. Would you mind?"

She wanted another kiss, but she did not know how to go about it;so she satisfied the hunger by pressing his hands to her thunderingheart. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stoodfor a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. Then shewent below. 

Spurlock bent his head to the rail. The twists in his brain hadsuddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and heknew now exactly what he had done. 

CHAPTER XXI

McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. The coconut plantation covered thewest side. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rowsquarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. The south-eastend of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. There wasplenty of sweet water. 

The settlement was on the middle west coast. The stores, the dryingbins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around anexquisite landlocked lagoon. One could enter and leave by proa, butnothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. The island hadevidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from thevolcanic upheaval--an island of coral and lava. 

There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, andpomegranate. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small butfilled with scarlet honey. This fruit was McClintock's particularpride. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangelyenough, they had prospered. 

"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange, " he was always saying, "youhave only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. "

The lemons had enormously thick skins and were only mildlyacidulous--sweet lemons, they were called; and one found themdelicious by dipping the slices in sugar. 

But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. McClintock hadbrought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders ofwonders, they had thrived--as trees. But not once in these tenyears had they borne blossom or fruit. The soil was identical, theclimate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with itspurple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. One might have saidthat these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. 

Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. Of course there were goats. There's an animal! He thrives in all zones, upon all manner offood. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. Theisland was snake-free. 

There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beakedlove-birds. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming inthe fruit groves. 

The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood;sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger inthese waters. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboodrops which were always down in the daytime, fending off thetreacherous sunshine. White men never went abroad without helmets. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was aninvitation to sunstroke. 

Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to thebackground. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he becamewhat he had once been normally, a lovable boy. 

McClintock was amused. He began really to like Spurlock, despitethe shadow of the boy's past, despite his inexplicable attitudetoward this glorious girl. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless_camaraderie_ of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hangif all the world knew it. If the boy did not love the girl, why thedevil had he dragged her into this marriage?

Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioningclearly; and, it might be added, swiftly--as the brain always actswhen confronted by a perplexing riddle. No matter how swiftly hepursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. Why had Ruthmarried _him_? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he wasthat. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did notlove him, or he knew nothing of love signs. Had she too been flyingfrom something and had accepted this method of escape? But whatfrying-pan could be equal to this fire?

All this led him back to the original circle. He saw the colossalselfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea ofabnormality. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollectedevery thought that had led up to it and every act that hadconsummated the deed. 

To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immenseecholess tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter whichtore at his vitals. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To washaway his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had setabout. And God had let him do it! He was--and now he perfectlyunderstood that he was--treading the queerest labyrinth a man hadever entered. 

Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love norpassion--utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Hehad kissed his wife on the mouth . .. And had been horrified! Therewas real madness somewhere along this road. 

He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherentconscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, orthat there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. He saw whathe had done only as it related to Ruth. He would have to go on; hewould be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed uponhimself. 

His salvation--if there was to be any--lay in her ignorance oflife. But she could not live in constant association with himwithout having these gaps filled. And when she learned that she hadbeen doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on herside of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as heanticipated hers. He was an imaginative young man. 

Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when theyseparated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimeshe would hold her hand in his and pat it. 

"I'll have my cot in here, " said Spurlock to Ruth, "where thistable is. You never can tell. I'm likely to get up any time in thenight to work. "

Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which waswithin calling distance of McClintock's. They had scrubbed anddusted, torn down and hung up until noon. 

"Whatever you like, Hoddy, " she agreed, wiping the sweat from herforehead. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put herin the wing across the middle hall, alone. "This will be verycomfortable. "

"Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?"

"Not in the lagoon. Mr. McClintock says they can't get in there, orat least they never try it. "

"Lord!--think of having sharks for neighbours? Every morning I'lltake a dip into the lagoon. That'll tune me up. "

"But don't ever swim off the main beach without someone with you. "

"I wonder where the deuce I'll be able to get some writing paper?I'm crazy to get to work again. "

"Probably Mr. McClintock will have some. "

"I sha'n't want these curtains. You take them. The veranda bamboowill be enough for me. "

He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into hereyes. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned--the softnessof her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. He turnedirresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves ofhis old manuscripts. 

"I believe I'll tear them up. So long as they're about, I'll alwaysbe rewriting them and wasting my time. "

"Let me have them. "

"What for? What do you want of them?"

"Why, they are . .. Yours. And I don't want anything of yoursdestroyed, Hoddy. Those were dreams. "

"All right, then. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrustthem under her arm. "But don't ever let me see them again. ByGeorge, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in theoffice and that I could have it. I'll dig it up. I'll be feelingfine in no time. The office is a sight--not one sheet of paper onanother; bills and receipts everywhere. I'll have to put some pepinto the game--American pep. It will take a month to clean up. I'vebeen hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!"

She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in herwisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end--inthe veranda chair. All this--the island and its affairs--was an oldstory; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a pointimperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband'seyes, as in the future she would see all things. 

For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she didnot know how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. Herheart ached; and that puzzled her. Love was joy, and joyous she waswhen alone. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidityencompassed her. 

The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want ofsomething better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon thedesert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. " Manis a peculiar animal. No matter what the fire and force of hispassion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goesout. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a womanalways has the mother love. When the disillusion comes, when thefairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn'tmind. If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; buthe is no longer a man but a child. 

A dog appeared unexpectedly upon the threshold. He was yellow andcoarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth andwagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one ofthese disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. 

"Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock. 

He started toward the dog with the idea of ejecting him, but Ruthintervened. 

"No, please! It is good luck for a dog to enter your house. Let mekeep him. "

"What? Good Lord, he's alive with fleas! They'll be all over theplace. "

"Please!"

She dropped the curtains and the manuscripts, knelt and held outher arms. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. Hesuspected a trap. The few whites he had ever known generallyoffered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. But whenRuth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one inthis house would ever offer him a kick. So he decided to stay. 

"You want him?"

"Please!" said Ruth. 

"All right. What'll we call him--Rollo?"--ironically. 

"I never had a pet. I never had even a real doll, " she added, asshe snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. "See how glad heis!"

His irony and displeasure subsided. She had never had a pet, neverhad a real doll. Here was a little corner of the past--a tragiccorner. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that itstruck the child and the grown-up impartially. He must never refuseher anything which was within his power to grant--anything (hemodified) which did not lead to his motives. 

"You poor child!--you can have all the dogs on the island, if youwant them! Come along to the kitchen, and we'll give Rollo atubbing. "

And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began--with the tubbingof a stray yellow dog. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo nowknew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying tokill him in a new way. Nobody will ever know what the fleasthought. 

The two young fools laughed until they cried. They were drenchedwith water and suds. Their laughter, together with the agonizedyowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and atlength McClintock himself came over to see what the racket wasabout. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. 

"You two will have this island by the ears, " he said, wiping hiseyes. "Those boys out there think this is some new religious riteand that you are skinning the dog alive to eat him!"

The shock of this information loosened Spurlock's grip on the dog, who bolted out of the kitchen and out of the house, maintaining hismile-a-minute gait until he reached the jungle muck, where heproceeded to neutralize the poison with which he had been latheredby rolling in the muck. 

But they found him on the veranda when they returned fromMcClintock's that evening. He had forgiven everybody. From then onhe was Ruth's dog. 

Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship asthe sharing of a laughable incident. Certain reserves went down onboth sides. Spurlock discussed the affairs of the island and Ruthgave him in exchange her adventures with the native girl who was tobe their servant. 

This getting up at dawn--real dawn--and working until seven was adistinct novelty. From then until four in the afternoon there wasnothing to do--the whole island went to sleep. Even the chatteringmonkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for thesmelly dark of the jungle. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. They hunted up shady nooks andwent to sleep; but promptly at four they would be at the office, ready for barter. 

Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and beganto practise on it in the night. He would never be able to composeupon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. Above thework-table was a drop-light--kerosene. The odour of kerosenepermeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to someextent by burning native punk in brass jars. 

He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. Hestarted a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in thedoorway. She crooked her finger. 

"What is it?"

"The night, " she answered. "Come and see the lagoon in themoonlight. "

He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into thenight, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. There wasonly one sound--the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and eventhat said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadowmoved. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of somefabulous Grecian temple. 

"Let us sit here, " she said, indicating the white sand borderingthe lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quitewonderful . . . . There!"

Out of the dark unruffled sapphire of the lagoon came verticalflashes of burning silver, singly and in groups. 

"What in the world is it?" he asked. 

"Flying fish. Something is feeding upon them. I thought you mightlike to see. You might be able to use the picture some day. "

"I don't know. " He bent his head to his knees. "Something's wrong. I can't invent; the thing won't come. "

"Shall I tell you a real story?"

"Something you have seen?"

"Yes. "

"Tell it. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in. "

So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in thetyphoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificentcourage. 

"That's tremendous!" he cried. "Lord, if I can only remember towrite it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. "I'lltackle it to-night!"

"But it's after ten!"

"What's that got to do with it? . .. The roofs of the native hutsscattering in the wind! . .. The absolute agony of the twistingpalms!. .. . And those two beggars laughing as they breasted death!Girl, you've gone and done it!"

He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with herto the bungalow. 

Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at thethreshold of what they now called his study. There were no doors inthe bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead andbamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. His pipe hung dead in histeeth, but the smoke was dense about him. His hand flew across thepaper. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and begananother. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the windowwhich gave upon the sea. But she could tell by the dullness of hiseyes that he saw only some inner vision. 

Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew whatkisses were now. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but heneither saw nor heard. 

CHAPTER XXII

Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge inthe lagoon. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to gobeyond her depth because of the sharks. She always managed to getback to the bungalow before he did. 

As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burningin the study; so she stopped at the door. Spurlock lay with hishead on his arms, asleep. The lamp was spreading soot overeverything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. Sheran to the lamp and extinguished it. Spurlock slept on. It wasstill too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to notethe number of the last page--fifty-six. 

Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. She tied the obi clumsily abouther waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. He did notmove. Mischief bubbled up in her. She set her fingers in the hairand tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so thather eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. 

He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of hisdream. He had been dreaming of Ruth--an old recurrency of thatdream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of themountain. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of thedream. He smiled. 

"The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. 

But she was relentless. "Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head toand fro until the hair stung. 

"What?. .. Oh!. .. Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head andstood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. Rollo barked. 

"Go and take your plunge while I attend to breakfast. "

He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed himfrom the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of thebungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. 

Ruth returned to the table. The tropical dawn is swift. She couldnow see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she cameupon the first page. "The Beachcombers. "

Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. She roves the blue fields of theNorth, with the clean North Wind on her lips and her blonde headjewelled with frost--mocking valour and hardihood! Out of the Westshe comes, riding the great ships and the endless steel ways thatencompass the earth, and smoke comes with her and the glare offurnace fires--commerce! From the East she brings strange wordsupon her tongue and strange raiment upon her shoulders and theperfume of myrrh--antiquity! But oh! when she springs from theSouth, her rosy feet trailing the lotus, ripe lequats wreathing herhead, in one hand the bright torch of danger and in the other thegolden apples of love, with her eyes full of sapphires and hermouth full of pearls!

"With her eyes full of sapphires and her mouth full of pearls. " Allday long the phrase interpolated her thoughts. 

A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready forthe test. Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. To havewritten a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. 

It was at breakfast on this day that he told Ruth he had sent toBatavia for some dresses. They would arrive sometime in June. 

"That gown is getting shabby. "

Ruth spread out the ruffled skirt, sundrily torn and soiled. "Ihaven't worn anything else in weeks. I haven't touched the other. "

"Anything like that?"

"Yes; but the colour is lavender. "

"Wear that to-night, then. It fits your style. You are very lovely, Ruth. "

She wanted to dance. The joy that filled her veins with throbbingfire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. She sat perfectly still, however. 

"I am glad you think that, " she replied. "Please tell me whenever Iam at fault. "

"I wish you did have some faults, Ruth. You're an angel ofgoodness. "

"No, no! I have had wicked thoughts. "

He laughed and pushed back his chair. "So has the butterfly evilthoughts. We're to be given a treat to-night. McClintock will betuning up the piano to-day. I say, I'll take the yarn over and readit to McClintock. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. But, hang it, I know it's good!"

"Of course it is!"

In the afternoon he began work on another tale. It was his purposeto complete four or five stories before he sent any away. But to-dayhe did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. FromMcClintock's came an infernal _tinkle-tinkle, tump-tump_! There wasno composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. Buteventually Spurlock laughed. Not so bad. Battle, murder, and suddendeath--and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in themidst of it. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. 

He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee;and when he had done, the old trader nodded. 

"That's a good story, lad. You've caught the colour and the life. But it sounds too real to be imagined. You've never seen a typhoon, have you?"

"No. "

"Well, imagination beats me!"

"It's something Ruth saw. She told me the tale the other night, andI've only elaborated it. "

"Ah, I see. " McClintock saw indeed--two things: that the boy had noconceit and that this odd girl would always be giving. "Well, it'sa good story. "

He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. She always left the table whenthey began to smoke. Spurlock had not coached her on this line ofconduct. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to doand that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. She hated toleave; for this hour would be the most interesting. Both Spurlockand McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. 

"Yes, sir, " said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Seastuff, that yarn of yours. I like the way you shared it. I haveread that authors are very selfish and self-centred. "

"Oh, Ruth couldn't put it on paper, to be sure; but there was noreason to hide the source. "

"Have you told her?"

"Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. 

"You know what I mean, " said the trader, gravely. "In spots you area thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad. Myfriend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. You are not a touristseeking adventure. You have all the earmarks of a fugitive fromjustice. "

Spurlock grew limp in his chair. "If you thought that, why did yougive me this job?"--his voice faint and thick. 

"The doctor and I agreed to give you a chance--for her sake. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess ofit. A child--as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused bythe fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what youhave done; I don't care. But you must tell her. "

"I can't! I can't--not now!"

"Bat!--can't you see that she's the kind who would understand andforgive? She loves you. "

The walls appeared to rock; bulging shadows reached out; the candleflames became mocking eyes; and the blood drummed thunderously inSpurlock's ears. The door to the apocalypse had opened!

"Loves me? . . . Ruth?"

"Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if shedidn't love you? While you read I watched her face. It was in hereyes--the big thing that comes but once. But you! Why the devil did_you_ marry _her_? That's the thing that confounds me. "

"God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock'shand. 

"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. It isa matter of degree. Lord, I am sixty. For thirty years I have livedalone; but once upon a time I lived among men. I know life. I sitback now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find myloneliness sweet. I have had my day; and there were women in it. So, when I tell you she loves you, I know. Supposing they find youand take you away?--and she unprepared? Have you thought of that?Why did you marry her?"

"God alone knows!"

"And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"--with rising anger. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face;but he was merciless. "Are you a poltroon, after all?"

"That's it! I ought to have died that night!"

"Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone andpractically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred bygratitude. You just married her. Lad, that fuddles me!"

"Did you bring me down here to crucify me?" cried Spurlock, inpassionate rebellion. 

"No, lad, " said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. "Only, whatyou have done is out of all human calculation. You did not marryher because you loved her; you did not marry because she might havehad money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did notmarry her because you had to. You just married her! But there sheis--'with her eyes full of sapphires and her mouth full ofpearls'!" McClintock quoted with gentle irony. "What have you gotthere in your breast--a stone? Is there blood or water in yourveins?"

The dam broke, but not with violence. A vast relief filledSpurlock's heart as he decided to tell this man everything whichrelated to Ruth. This island was the one haven he had; he might beforced to remain here for several years--until the Hand hadforgotten him. He must win this man's confidence, even at the riskof being called mad. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, hetold his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon thetable and bent his head to them. 

There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rathera tableau. The candles--for McClintock never used oil in his diningroom--were burning low in the sconces. Occasionally the flameswould bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirredhimself. 

McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. That any human being could conceive and execute such a thing! ARoundhead, here in these prosaic times!--and mad as a hatter!Trying the rôle of St. Anthony, when God Himself had found only oneman strong enough for that! McClintock shook his head violently, asif to dismiss this dream he was having. But the objects in hisrange of vision remained unchanged. Presently he reached out andlaid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. 

"'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. Even if you were sick in themind and did not understand what you were doing, it's a mightycruel thing you have done. Probably she mistook you; probably shethought you cared. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'llcontent myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. You have set out todo something which is neither God's way nor man's. What'll you bedoing?"

"What can I do?" asked Spurlock, raising his haggard face. "Can'tyou see? I can't hurt her, if . .. If she cares! I can't tell herI'm a madman as well as a thief!. .. What a fool! What a fool!"

A thief. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was anhonest man. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding wavesof pity and understanding. One transgression; he was sure of that. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscienceto such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything. Allthis muddle to placate his conscience!

"Here--quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. "Putit in your teeth and light it. I hear her coming. "

Spurlock obeyed mechanically. The candle was shaking in his hand asRuth appeared in the doorway. 

"I thought we were going to have some music, " she said. 

Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she hadbecome, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. And thisutter stranger . .. Loved him! He had no reason to doubtMcClintock's statement; the Scot had solved the riddle why RuthEnschede had married Howard Spurlock. All emotions laid hold ofhim, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. For a spacehe rode the whirligig. 

"We were talking shop, " said McClintock, rising. ObservingSpurlock's spell-bound attitude, he clapped the boy on theshoulder. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away. "

In the living room Spurlock's glance was constantly drawn towardRuth; but in fear that she might sense something wrong, he walkedover to the piano and struck a few chords. 

"You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. 

"A little. This is a good piano. "

"It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here, " said the Scot, ruefully. "Ever play one of these machines?"

"Yes. I've always been more or less music-mad. But machinery willnever approach the hand. "

"I know a man. .. . But I'll tell you about him some other time. I'mcrazy over music, too. I can't pump out all there is to thesecompositions. Try something. "

Spurlock gratefully accepted the Grieg _concerto_, gratefully, because it was brilliant and thunderous. _Papillon_ would havebroken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; andlike as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. He played for an hour--Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashingmusic. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. He had been for months without music of thecharacter he loved--and he dared not play any of it!

McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in acorner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. Hisinterest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, hisglance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back toRuth. These amazing infants!

Suddenly he came upon the true solution: that the boy hadn't meantto steal whatever it was he had stolen. A victim of one of thosemental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinctand breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. Neverany doubt of it. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to asoul with clean ideals. All in a moment. McClintock's heart wentout to Spurlock; he would always be the boy's friend, even thoughhe had dragged this girl on to the rocks with him. 

Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. He could rememberwhen women laid away their gowns in lavender--as this girl's motherhad. He would always be her friend, too. That boy--blind as a bat!Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night!

From the first chord of the Grieg _concerto_ to the _finale_ of theChopin _ballade_, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. What would happen toher? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?--as it had beenthose other times? Music--that took out of her the sense ofreality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will thedirectless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. But beforethe Grieg _concerto_ was done, she knew that she was free. Free!All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. 

Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. McClintock, striking a matchto relight his cigar, broke the spell. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stoodup and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from adream. 

"I didn't know the machine had such stuff in it, " said McClintock. "I imagine I must have a hundred rolls--all the old fellows. It's asorry world, " he went on. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes--I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. "

The clock tinkled ten. Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. They walked in silence. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from theecho of the magic sounds. At the threshold of the study he bade hergood-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. 

"I feel like work, " he lied. What he wanted desperately was to bealone. 

"But you are tired!"

"I want to go over the story again. "

"Mr. McClintock liked it. "

"He couldn't help it, Ruth. It's big, thanks to you. "

"You. .. . Need me a little?"

"Not a little, but a great deal. "

That satisfied something of her undefined hunger. She went to herbedroom, but she did not go to bed. She drew a chair to the windowand stared at the splendour of the tropical night. By and by sheheard the screen door. Hollo rumbled in his throat. 

"Hush!" she said. 

Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. He walked withbent head. After quarter of an hour, she followed. 

The unexpected twist--his disclosure to McClintock--had givenSpurlock but temporary relief. The problem had returned, madegigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. The thought alluredhim, and therein lay the danger. If it were but the question of hisreason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. Buthe was a thief, a fugitive from justice. On that basis alone, hehad no right to give or accept love. 

Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing?It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he hadsaid and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw ofexcuse. 

Ruth loved him. It was perfectly logical. And he could not returnthis love. He must fight the thought continually, day in and dayout. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversionsto serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought inhis head--that Ruth loved him!

He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung handsdigging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem--he couldnot grip it. Torment!

And so Ruth discovered him. She was about to rush to his side, whenshe saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Her heart swelled to suffocation. To go to him, to console him! Butshe stirred not from her hiding place. Instinctively she knew--somehuman recollection she had inherited--that she must not disturb himin this man-agony. She could not go to him when it was apparentthat he needed her beyond all other instances! What had caused thisagony did not matter--then. It was enough that she witnessed it andcould not go to him. 

By and by--as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless--shestole back to the bungalow to wait. Through her door curtain shecould see the light from the study lamp. If, when he returned, heblew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned onfor any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtainto learn if his agony was still upon him. She heard him come in;the light burned on. 

She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. Hehad something across his knees. At first she could not tell what itwas; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognizedthe old coat. 

CHAPTER XXIII

Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of thelagoon. Here again instinct guided her. If he had nothing to tellher, she had nothing to ask. She did not want particularly to knowwhat had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the oldcoat. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was theache in her heart. 

At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. There wasnothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmedher heart this morning. So they fenced with smiles. 

He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefullydone, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. It nowoccurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. He did notknow--and probably never would unless she told him--that it wasvery easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternlyways in this latitude. So long as she could remember, her fatherhad never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fullydressed. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now becomehabit. 

Fascination. It would be difficult to find another human beingsubjected to so many angles of attack as Spurlock. Ruth loved him. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened histerror, which is a phase of fascination. She loved him. That heldhis thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. The mortalyouth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from allsides Ruth attacked him, innocently. The novel danger of thesituation enthralled him. He saw himself retreating from barricadeto barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of theterror she inspired. 

While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. Sheattacked his hair resolutely. He laughed to hide his uneasiness. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. 

"The part was crooked, " she explained. 

"I don't believe McClintock would have gone into convulsions at thesight of it. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll berumpling it. "

"That isn't the point, Hoddy. You don't notice the heat; but it isalways there, pressing down. You must always shave and part yourhair straight. It doesn't matter that you deal with black people. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. Mr. McClintock doesit; and he knows why. In the morning and at night he is dressed ashe would dress in the big hotels. In the afternoon he probablyloafs in his pajamas. You can, too, if you wish. . "

"All right, teacher; I'll shave and comb my hair. " He rose for fearshe might touch him again. 

But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafterhe purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuseto fetch the comb. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it wasrather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore ofthis or that invading emotion. 

He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinaryquestions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he alwaysrose when she entered or left the room. This formality irked her:she wanted to play a little, romp. The moment she entered the roomand he rose, she felt that she was immediately consigned to thecircle of strangers; and it emptied her heart of its joy and filledit with diffidence. There was a wall; she was always encounteringit; the one time she was able to break through this wall was whenthe part in his hair was crooked. 

She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone--thebones of all women. She required no instructions from books; herwit and beauty were her own. What lends a tragic mockery to allthese tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. 

But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was notsensitive to this. The fire--if there was any in him--never madeheadway against this insistant demand to know the significance ofthese manifold inward agitations. 

Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore thename of Rollo unflinchingly--the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which wassubtly repelled by its lawful object. 

Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boywas a find. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand onthem. The cheating of the boys in the stores ceased. If there wereany pearls, none came into the light. Gradually McClintock shiftedthe burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books andmusic rolls. 

Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's--twenty miles to the northwest--forice and mail. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a Britishmail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. All sorts of batteredtramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. Spurlockwas tremendously interested in these derelicts, and got a good dealof information regarding them, which he stored away for future use. There were electric and ice plants, and a great store in which onecould buy anything from jewsharps to gas-engines. White men andnatives dealt conveniently at Copeley's. It saved long voyages andlong waits; and the buyers rarely grumbled because the prices werestiff. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, anda club-house for cards and billiards. 

He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declinedall the proffered courtesies. Getting back the ice was rather aserious affair. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds--allshe could carry--and started home immediately after sundown; buteven then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty poundsbefore he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-coveredsawdust pit. This ice was used for refrigerator purposes and forMcClintock's evening peg. 

Ruth with Rollo as her guide explored the island. In the heart ofthe jungle the dog had his private muck baths. Into one of these hewaded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. At first shethought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but aftera time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualitiesand soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. In thepresence of the husband of his mistress Rollo was alwaysdignifiedly cheerful, but he never leaped or cavorted as he didwhen alone with Ruth. 

Spurlock was fond of dogs; he was fond of this offspring of manymesalliances; but he never made any attempt to win Rollo, to sharehim. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. He filled therôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least notutterly as he would have liked. Yes--as he would have liked. 

For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. She was as lovely inthe spirit as in the flesh. Her moods were many and alwaysstriking. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm andbaffling as the sea in doldrums. She never grew angry for anythingher husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against thelazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in theinner temple--Spurlock's study. 

She formed a habit which embarrassed Spurlock greatly, but at firsthe dared not complain. She would come and sit cross-legged justbeyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. One nightshe apparently fell asleep. He could not permit her to remain inthat position. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms andcarried her to her bed. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth satup hugging and rocking her body in delight. This charming episodewas repeated three times. Then he sensed the trap. 

"Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. I can'tconcentrate on my work. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me. Ican't help looking at you frequently. You don't want me to spoilthe story, do you?"

"No. But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have writtensomething beautiful, your face shows it. "

"I know; but . .. "

"And sometimes you say out loud: 'That's great stuff!' I never makeany sound. "

"But it is the sight of you!"

"All right, Hoddy. I promise not to do it again. " She rose. "Goodnight. "

He stared at the agitated curtain; and slowly his chin sank untilit touched his chest. He had hurt her. But the recollection of thewarm pliant body in his arms . .. !

"I am a thief!" he whispered. He had only to recall this fact(which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not goaround or over. 

Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruthbelieved him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was onlymasquerading as Spurlock. If ever the denouement came--if ever theHand reached him--Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffedall her tender advances. The law would accord her all her previousrights: she would return to the exact status out of which in hismadness he had taken her. She might even forgive him. 

He thanked God for this talent of his. He could lose himself forhours at a time. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or thatcharacter, he suffered or prospered equally. He was thebeachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. There wasa fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock aboutthis. He called it "The Man Who Could Not Go Home. " Himself. He didnot write this with lead but with his heart's blood. 

By the middle of July he was in full health. In the old days he hadbeen something of an athlete--a runner, an oarsman, and a crack attennis. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the redcorpuscle. For all the enervating heat, he applied himselfvigorously to his tasks. 

Late in July he finished the fourth story. This time there wasn'tany doubt. He had done it. These were _yarns_! As he was about toslip the manuscripts into the envelope, something caught his eye:by Howard Spurlock. Entranced, he stared at the name. Suddenly heunderstood what had happened. A wrathful God was watching him. Howard Spurlock. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. To writeunder a pseudonym!--to be forced to disown his children! He couldnot write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should thesetales prove successful. 

Here was a thundering blow. All his dreams shattered in an instant. What is the supreme idea in the heart and mind of youth? To winfame and fortune: and particularly to enjoy them. Spurlock slumpedin his chair, weak and empty. This was the bitterest hour he hadever known. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread andbutter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge ofSomewhere into the abyss of Nowhere. 

At length, when he saw no escape from the inevitable, he took thefour title pages from the manuscripts and typed new ones, substituting Taber for Spurlock. A vast indifference settled downupon him. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believehe would ever write again. 

Both Ruth and McClintock came down to the launch to wish himGod-speed and good luck. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Through itall Spurlock maintained a gaiety which deceived them completely. Buthis treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. 

And yet--such is the buoyancy of youth--within a fortnight he beganhis first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth'saccount. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerablethought. 

 * * * * *

Coconuts grew perpetually. There will often be six growths in asingle palm. So proas loaded with nuts were always landing on thebeach. _The Tigress_ went prowling for nut, too. Once, both Ruthand Spurlock accompanied McClintock far south, to an island ofblacks; and Spurlock had his first experience with the coconutdance and the booming of wooden tom-toms. 

At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate;it permeated everything, taste and smell. For a long time even thestrong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possesseda coconut flavour. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled ortasted it. 

On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back apacket of letters, magazines, and newspapers. McClintock neverthrew away any advertising matter; in fact, he openly courtedpamphlets; and they came from automobile dealers and greatmail-order houses, from haberdashers and tailors and manufacturersof hair-tonics, razors, gloves, shoes, open plumbing. In this way(he informed Spurlock) he kept posted on what was going on in thestrictly commercial world. "Besides, lad, even an advertisement ofa cough-drop is something to read. " So there was always plenty ofmail. 

Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. Inprivacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventuallydestroyed it by fire. It was, in his opinion, the most astonishingletter he had ever read. He hated to destroy it; but that was theobligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. 

Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened themission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderfulmanuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America)she was inexplicably drawn to it. In all these weeks she had notonce knelt to pray. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. God hadnever answered any of her prayers. But this time she wanted nothingfor herself: she wanted something for Hoddy--success. So, notexactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. 

It was not a long prayer. She said it audibly, having learned longsince that an audible prayer was a concentrated one. And yet, atthe end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through toconsciousness. "And someday let him care for me!"

She sprang up, alarmed. This unexpected interpolation might spoilthe efficacy of all that had gone before. She hadn't meant to askanything for herself. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. She hadbeen fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mindfor a substance, and now regretted what he had done--married a girlwho was not his equal in anything. The agony on the sands nowceased to puzzle her. 

All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shatteredthemselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. Why had he offered her that kiss on board _The Tigress_? Perhapsthat had been his hour of disenchantment. She hadn't measured up;she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. 

Loneliness. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous lonelinesshad been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and wouldfor years to come. 

If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But histender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abidingbitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Very well. Shewould meet him upon this ground: he should never be given theslightest hint that she was unhappy. 

She still had her letter of credit. She could run away from him, ifshe wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carryout the original adventure. But the cases were not identical. Herfather--man of rock--had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even ifhe did not love her, would always be needing her. 

Love stories!. .. A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother itshe buried her face in a pillow. 

Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the westveranda. The chair had extension arms over which a man mightcomfortably dangle his legs. For awhile he watched the revolvinglight on Copeley's. Occasionally he relit his pipe. Once hechuckled aloud. Certain phases of irony always caused him tochuckle audibly. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. He knew it absolutely, as if he had the check in his hand. Why?Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty ofHoward Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregsin this cup of irony. For what could be more ironical than forHoward Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber?The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!--and this gall andwormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. 

"All right, " he said. "Whatever you say--you, behind those starsthere, if you are a God. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. Be a sport, and pileit all on me!"

He went to bed. 

There is something in prayer; not that there may be any noticeableresult, any definite answer; but no human being can offer an honestprayer to God without gaining immeasurably in courage, infortitude, in resignation, and that alone is worth the effort. 

On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered aprayer) let down the bars to his reserve. He became reallycompanionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and askedsome questions about colour. Ruth, having decided a course forherself--that of renunciation--and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. Sothese two young philosophers got along very well that day; and thesucceeding days. 

She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-lifeand the changing mysteries of the sea. She taught him how to sail aproa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboosprouts. Eventually this comradeship (slightly resented by Rollo)reached a point where he could call out from the study: "Hey, Ruth!--come and tell me what you think of this. "

Her attitude now entirely sisterly, he ceased to be afraid of her;there was never anything in her eyes (so far as he could see) butfriendly interest in all he said or did. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to carein that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should havefilled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cutthe natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. Yesterday thisglorious creature had loved him; to-day she was only friendly. Nomore did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. Andinstead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguelyhurt!

One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. Itbrought no coconut. There stepped forth a tall brown man. Heremained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance rovinginvestigatingly. He wore a battered sun-helmet, a loin-cloth and apair of dilapidated canvas shoes. At length he proceeded towardMcClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. 

Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the sideof one of the screened windows. By and by he ventured to peer intothis window. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, anelderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in achair, her eyes closed. The watcher's intake of breath wassibilant. 

It was she! The Dawn Pearl!

He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he washeard, and ran down to the beach. He gave an order, the proa wasfloated and the sail run up. In a moment the brisk evening breezecaught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. The proa bore away tothe northwest out of which it had come. 

James Boyle O'Higgins knew little or nothing of the South Seas, buthe knew human beings, all colours. His deduction was correct thatthe beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on aforgotten isle. 

CHAPTER XXIV

Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. For a long time tocome that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook towrite. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into thestudy and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neitherthe ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often didcorrect his lapses in colour. She never touched the manuscript withpencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left themwhere he might easily find them. 

She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. He workedafternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at nightunder a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and couldnot. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, helaboured. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send ashower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub hisface and arms and hands. He kept at it even on those nights whenthe monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weightdown with stones everything on his table. Soot was everywhere, forthe lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. But he wrote on. 

As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter anddominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreamsreviewed--as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Itfrightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; butthe chapter following would reassure her. Here would be a womanperfectly unrecognizable, strong, ruthless but just. 

This heroine ruled an island which (in the '80s) was rich withshell--pearl-shell; and she fought pearl thievers and maraudingbeachcombers, fought them with weapons and with woman's guile. Noman knew whence she had come nor why. That there would eventuallybe a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. Ifthe creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept itas a sign that he did care a little. 

Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale ofadventure. She gloried in it: he needed her. When the hero finallydid appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. He was noHoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face anddrink-shattered intellect. Day by day she followed the spiritualand physical contest between this man and woman. One day a pall ofblackness encompassed the sick mind of the giant; and when he cameto his senses, they properly functioned: and he saw his wife by hisbedside!

An astonishing idea entered Ruth's head one day--when the novel wascomplete in the rough--an astonishing idea because it had notdeveloped long ago. A thing which had mystified her sincechildhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now shehad never felt the urge to investigate. She tucked the missionBible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth tothe west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdenedwith broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. During the wet monsoonthe west beach was always littered. Where the stuff came from wasalways a mystery. 

The Enschede Bible--the one out of which she read--had beenstrangely mutilated. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. Theopen books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. One of her duties, after she had been taught toread, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going tobed. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there hadcome times when shrieking would have relieved her. How she hadhated it!. .. All these mumblings which were never explained, whichcarried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried toOld Morgan's swearing parrot. Like the parrot, she could memorizethe lines, but she could not understand them. Never had her fatherexplained. "Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her fatherwould say: "Faith. Go on. " So, after a time, encountering the blot, she herself would supply the word Faith. But was it Faith? That iswhat she was this day going to find out. 

She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which hadcarried the blot. And so she came upon the word _Love_. Blottedout--Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word _Love_. Why? Love was a word ofGod's, and yet her father had denied it--denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Why? He could preach the Wordand deny Love!--tame the savage heart, succour broken whitemen!--pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The ideamade her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She could accord herfather with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. Tenderwith the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that hadthe resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. 

She recalled him. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his facedecided, and yet for all that it had the significance of acountenance hewn out of rock. Never had he corrected her with handor whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cowerher. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress;never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. Shehad never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name--Ruth. 

Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of hisBible. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. No matter. It was ended. Sheherself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. Ah, but shecould remember; and many things there were that she would neverforgive. Sometimes--a lonely forlorn child--she had gone to him andput her arms around his neck. Stonily he had disengaged himself. "Iforbid you to do that. " She had brought home a puppy one day. Hehad taken it back. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever hefound them. 

Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?"

He had answered: "I am. "

She had no reason to doubt him. Her father, her own father! Sheremembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always beenquoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. 

_How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thouhide thy face from me?_

She came upon the Song of Songs--which had been pasted down in theEnschede Bible--the burning litany of love; and from time to timeshe intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. There was one versethat haunted and mocked her. 

_Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick oflove. _

Here was Ruth Enschede--sick of love! Love--something the worldwould always keep hidden from her, at least human love. All she hadfound was the love of this dog. She threw her arms around Rollo'sneck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. 

"Oh, Rollo, there are so many things I don't know! But you love me, don't you?"

Rollo wagged his stump violently and tried to lick her face. Heunderstood. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stickwhich he fetched and laid at her feet. But she was staring seawardand did not notice the offering. 

 * * * * *

October. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was settingin. Then came the great day. It was at lunch when McClintockannounced that in the mail-pouch he had found a letter addressed toHoward Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. 

Spurlock grew cold. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. The envelope might containonly a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. Inmailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or theequivalent in money. 

"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. 

"You open it, Ruth. I'm in a funk, " Spurlock confessed. 

McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. She, having allthe confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out thecontents--a letter and a check. What the editor had to say none ofthe three cared just then. Spurlock snatched the check out ofRuth's hands and ran to the window. 

"A thousand dollars in British pounds!. .. A thousand dollars forfour short stories!" The tan on Spurlock's face lightened. He wasprofoundly stirred. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. "You two . .. Both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. If only you knewwhat this means to me!"

"We do, lad, " replied McClintock, gravely. The youth of them! Andwhat was he going to do when they left his island? What wouldDonald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left theisland, never more to return?

Ruth was thrilling with joy. Every drop of blood in her body glowedand expanded. To go to Hoddy, to smother him with kisses andembraces in this hour of triumph! To save herself from committingthe act--the thought of which was positive hypnotism--she began thenative dance. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical)welcomed the diversion. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. It was a mad half-hour. 

"Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" wasMcClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. 

"You read it, Ruth. You're luck. "

"Aye!" was McClintock's inaudible affirmative. Luck. The boy wouldnever know just how lucky he was. Ruth read:

 DEAR SIR:

 "We are delighted to accept these four stories, particularly 'The Man Who Could Not Go Home. ' We shall be pleased to see more of your work. 

"'The Man Who Could Not Go Home. ' Why, " said Ruth, "you did notread that to us. "

"Wanted to see if I could turn out one all on my own, " repliedSpurlock, looking at McClintock, who nodded slightly. "It was thestory of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his nativeland and wandered strange paths emptily. But never mind that. Comealong home, Ruth. I'm burning to get to work. "

After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even ifthere was the flavour of irony. At least, he would always be ableto take care of Ruth. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her!The pearl without price--his and not his!

He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went downthe veranda steps. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, buthe was too far away in thought to be observant. He saw rifts inclouds--sunshine. The future was not so black. All the money heearned--serving McClintock and the muse--could be laid away. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort andsecurity. After five or six years it would not be difficult to hidein Italy or in France. No; the future was not so dark; there was abit of dawn visible. If this success continued, it would be easy toassume the name of Taber. Ruth could not very well object, since anair of distinction would go with Taber. 

Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeledto learn the cause. 

He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like awinter's road, grim, stony. His gangling body was clothed in rustytwill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to thethroat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him theworld over as a man of the Word. His hand rested heavily andcruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. 

"So, wanton, I have found you!"

"Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at thearm. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow onthe chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. 

"Hoddy, Hoddy!. .. No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. 

Spurlock halted in his tracks. "But what does he mean by callingyou a wanton?--you, my wife?"

Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. The ironslipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. "Yourwife?"

"His lawful wife, " said Ruth, with fine dignity. 

For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turnedaway. To Spurlock's observing eye, Enschede's wrinkles multipliedand the folds in his clothes. The young man's imagination suddenlypictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumblingas it fell. But why did he turn away?

"Wait!" Ruth called to her father. 

The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, theunending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips inverbal lava. It is not well that a daughter should talk to herfather as Ruth talked to hers that day. 

The father, granite; the daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the one andheard the other, his amazement indescribable. Never before had heseen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. But as themystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped herfather thickened. 

"I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. He heard me; but he never came in to ask what was the matter. Forfifteen years!--so long as I can remember! All I wanted was alittle love, a caress now and then. But I waited in vain. So I ranaway, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. Youth! Youdenied me even that, " said Ruth, her glance now flashing to herfather. "Spring!--I never knew any. I dared not sing, I dared notlaugh, except when you went away. What little happiness I had I wasforced to steal. I am glad you found me. I am out of your lifeforever, never having been in it. Did you break my mother's heartas you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you foranything. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. No, no! Notnow!"

Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted theveranda steps, and vanished within. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. 

For a time Spurlock did not move. This incredible scene robbed himof the sense of locomotion. But his glance roved, to the doorthrough which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Unexpectedly he found himself speeding toward the father. 

"Enschede!" he called. 

Enschede halted. "Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side. 

"Are you a human being, to leave her thus?"

"It is better so. You heard her. What she said is true. "

"But why? In the name of God, why? Your flesh and blood! Have younever loved anything?"

"Are you indeed my daughter's lawful husband?" Enschede countered. 

"I am. You will find the proof in McClintock's safe. You called hera wanton!"

"Because I had every reason to believe she was one. There was everyindication that she fled the island in company with a dissoluterogue. " Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. 

Fired with wrath, Spurlock recounted the Canton episode. "Shetravelled alone; and she is the purest woman God ever permitted toinhabit the earth. What!--you know so little of that child? She ranaway from _you_. Somebody tricked you back yonder--baited you forspite. She ran away from you; and now I can easily understand why. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?"

Enschede gazed seaward. When he faced Spurlock, the granite wascracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in humaneyes. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you inthe dark--as I must always leave her? What shall I say except thatI am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something--her mother. Notwisely but too well. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or onearth--to idolatry. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon merelentlessly. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took theprimrose path. "

"But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. 

"Not as I loved mine. So, one day, because God was wroth, hermother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. Perhaps I am still mad. But I vowed that Ruth should never sufferthe way I did--and do. For I still love her mother. So I undertookto protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing itwhenever it appeared, obliterating it. I made it a point to bringbeachcombers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. Inever let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. Anything thatmight stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. "

"Man, in God's name, come with me and tell her this!" urgedSpurlock. 

"It is too late. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather thanlet it speak her mother's infamy. To tell Ruth anything, it wouldbe necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying theanswers. So she built a shrine. Always her prayers ended--'And maymy beautiful mother guide me!' No. It is better as it is. She is nolonger mine; she is yours. "

"What a mistake!"

"Yes. But you--you have a good face. Be kind to her. Whenever yougrow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. I cannow give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever beshuttling in between. "

"And all the time you loved her?"--appalled. 

"Perhaps. "

Enschede stepped into the proa, and the natives shoved off. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became aninfinitesimal speck in the distance. His throat filled; he wantedto weep. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappyworld. 

CHAPTER XXV

Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them--pondering. Washe really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange fatherlacked the essential human touch to make it real. Without astruggle he could give up his flesh and blood like that! "I can nowgive myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttlingin between. " The mortal agony behind those eyes! And all the whilehe had probably loved his child. To take Spring and Love out of herlife, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what wasbeing denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as hecame upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's?--a fair picture ofthe mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steeland granite outwardly. 

The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mentalsuffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. Tofind the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy taleRuth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerablethought. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron inthe man!--the iron in this child of his!

Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Spurlock bent hishead to his knees. He took into his soul some of the father'smisery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid acurse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he mighthave forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! Andthis day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. PoorRuth: for a father, a madman; for a husband--a thief!

Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He knew that at this moment Ruthlay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and thereaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would beputting scars on her soul. And he, her lawful husband, dared not goto her and console her! Accursed--all of them--Enschede, Ruth, andhimself. 

"What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks atlunch?"

Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. He waved a handtoward the sea. 

"A sail?" said McClintock. "What about it?"

"Enschede. "

"Enschede?--her father? What's happened?" McClintock sat down. "Doyou mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devilkind of a father is he?"

Spurlock shook his head. 

"What's become of Ruth?"

"Gone to her room. "

"Come, lad; let's have it, " said McClintock. "Anything thatconcerns Ruth is of interest to me. What happened between Ruth andher father that made him hurry off without passing ordinarycourtesies with me?"

"I suppose I ought to tell you, " said Spurlock; "but it isunderstood that Ruth shall never know the truth. "

"Not if it will hurt her. "

"Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has hadenough. Her mother. .. . Do you recall the night she showed you theface in the locket? Do you remember how she said--'If only mymother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender orbeautiful?"

"I remember. Go on and tell me. "

When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by hisown imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. 

"So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, mopingalone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour ofbitterness?"

"What can I do?"

"You can go to her and take her in your arms. "

"I might have been able to do that if you hadn't told me . .. Shecared. "

"Man, she's your wife!"

"And I am a thief. "

"You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader. 

"I am as God made me. "

"No. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. You arecaptain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. But I see now. Thatpoor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Her father forfifteen years, and you now for the rest of her life! Tell heryou're a thief. Get it off your soul. "

"Add that to what she is now suffering? It's too late. She wouldnot forgive me. "

"And why should you care whether she forgave you or not?"

Spurlock jumped to his feet, the look of the damned upon his face. "Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but wastoo big a fool to know it!"

His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. The latterbegan to heave himself up from the sand. 

"Did I hear you . .. " began McClintock. 

"Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. "You heard me say it! It wasinevitable. I might have known it. Another labyrinth in hell!"

A smile broke over the trader's face. It began in the eyes andspread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. 

"Man, man! You're coming to life. There's something human about younow. Go to her and tell her. Put your arms around her and tell heryou love her. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!"

The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopelessweariness fell upon him. "I can't make you understand; I can't makeyou see things as I see them. As matters now stand, I'm only athief, not a blackguard. What!--add another drop to her cup? Whoknows? Any day they may find me. So long as matters remain as theyare, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. Can't Imake you see?"

"But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. And her kind of love forgiveseverything and anything but infidelity. "

"You did not hear her when she spoke to her father; I did. "

"But she would understand you; whereas she will never understandher father. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Go to her, Isay, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! Ican't make _you_ see. Man, if you tell her you love her, and laterthey took you away to prison, who would sit at the prison gateuntil your term was up? Ruth. Why am I here--thirty years ofloneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and becauseI could not have the good, I would not take the bad. The woman Iwanted was another man's wife. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. But you! Ruth is your lawful wife. Not to go to her is wickeder thanif I had run away with my friend's wife. You're a queer lad. Withyour pencil you see into the hearts of all; and without your pencilyou are dumb and blind. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is allyour own, for better or for worse. Have you thought of the monstrouslie you are adding to your theft?"

"Lie?" said Spurlock, astounded. 

"Aye--to pretend to her that you don't care. That's a most damnablelie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. She'llhave this hour always with her; and you failed her. Go to her. "

"I can't. "

"Afraid?"

"Yes. "

This simple admission disarmed McClintock. "Well, well; I havegiven out of my wisdom. I'd like to shake you until your bonesrattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to anypurpose. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. Mountains out ofmolehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself inone direction and shatter yourself in the other. There is strengthin you--misguided. You will torture yourself and torture her allthrough life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faithinto a sound chalice. I would that you were my own. "

"I, a thief?"

"Aye; thief, Roundhead and all. If a certain kink in your sense ofhonour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as acomrade. Talk to her of the new story; divert her; for this day herheart has been twisted sorely. "

McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; andhalf an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key atwork. 

Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart andmind as well as in the feet. But recently he had asked God to pileit all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion forRuth. One thing--he could be thankful for that--the peak of hismisfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end nowand not matter in the least. 

Love . .. To take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then toadd to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was athief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind andpulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had alreadywrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. The future? He dared notspeculate upon that. 

He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was insemi-darkness. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on thefloor. 

"Ruth?"

Silence for a moment. "Yes. What is it?"

"Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled himwith the craving of laughter. Was there anything he could do!

"No, Hoddy; nothing. "

"Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender thatsounded!--talk!

"If you want to. "

Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. The duskyobscurity of the room was twice welcome. He did not want Ruth tosee his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. He knew she had been weeping. He drew a chair tothe side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallownessof his mind. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, anystretch of silence would be dangerous. The fascination of the ideaof throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was inhis heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of herarms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the handclenched tightly. 

"I am very wicked, " she said. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy;and I cursed him. But all those empty years!. .. My heart was hot. I'm sorry. I do forgive him; but he will never know now. "

"Write him, " urged Spurlock, finding speech. 

"He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. "

That was true, thought Spurlock. No matter what happened, whetherthe road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always becarrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, therack. 

"Would you rather be alone?"

"No. It's kind of comforting to have you there. You understand. Isha'n't cry any more. Tell me a story--with apple-blossoms init--about people who are happy. "

Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what heknew she wanted--a love story. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. Whenhe reached the happy ending, he waited. But there was no sign fromher. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. Shehad fallen asleep. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtainrattle behind him. He went into the study and sat down at histable, but not to write. He drew out the check and the editorialletter. He had sold half a dozen short tales to third-ratemagazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguishededitorial room, of international reputation. If he could keep itup--style and calibre of imagination--within a year the name ofTaber would become widely known. Everything in the world to livefor!--fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! Whatwas all this pother about hell as a future state?

By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisiblethings. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paperbegan to beckon imperiously. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had writtenthe previous night, he plunged into work. It was hot and dry. Therewere mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward thesea. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised windand seldom fulfilled that promise. 

"Time to dress for dinner, " said Ruth from behind the curtain. "Idon't see how you do it, Hoddy. It's so stuffy--and all thattobacco smoke!"

He inspected his watch. Half after six. He was astonished. For fourhours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of theseimaginative characters. 

"He called me a wanton, Hoddy. That is what I don't understand. "

"There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than youare. No doubt--because he did not understand you--he thought youhad run away with someone. The trader you spoke about: he dislikedyour father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father ahorrible practical joke. "

"Perhaps that was it. I always wondered why he bought my mother'spearls so readily. I am dreadfully sad. "

"I'll tell you what. I'll speak to McClintock to-night and see ifhe won't take us for a junket on _The Tigress_. Eh? Banging againstthe old rollers--that'll put some life into us both. Run alongwhile I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. "

"If he had only been my father!--McClintock!"

"God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat islike another. See the new litter of Mrs. Pig? By George, every oneof them looks like the other; and yet each one attacks the sourceof supply with a squeal and an oof that's entirely different fromhis brothers' and sisters'. Put on that new dress--the one that'sall white. We'll celebrate that check, and let the rest of theworld go hang. "

"You are very good to me, Hoddy. "

Something reached down into his heart and twisted it. But he heldthe smile until she turned away from the curtain. He dressedmechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. Theevening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked andrasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. To prevent theleaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributedpaper weights. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. 

He tried not to think--of Ruth with her mother's locket, of hermisguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. He drewcompellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of thismelancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not holdthem. Enschede: no human emotion should ever again shuttle betweenhim and God. As if God would not continue to mock him so long ashis brain held a human thought! God had given him a pearl withoutprice, and he had misunderstood until this day. 

McClintock was in a gay mood at dinner that night; but he did notsee fit to give these children the true reason. For a long timethere had been a standing offer from the company at Copeley's totake over the McClintock plantation; and to-day he had decided tosell. Why? Because he knew that when these two young people left, the island would become intolerable. For nearly thirty years he hadlived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fillhim with discontent. 

He would give _The Tigress_ a triple coat of paint, and take thesetwo on a long cruise, wherever they wanted to go--Roundhead andSeraph, the blunderbus and the flaming angel. And there was anothermatter. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been wortha thousand pounds. But his lips were honour-locked. 

There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (bothtaboo) at his elbow. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orangewas arranged in spiral form. The wine bubbled and seethed; and theexquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. 

"I sha'n't offer any of these to you two, " he said; "but I know youwon't mind me having an imitation king's peg. The occasion is wortha dash of the grape, lad. You're on the way to big things. Athousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. "

Spurlock laughed. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. Iwouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. A cup oflies. I know all about it. "

Ruth's eyes began to glow. She had often wondered if Hoddy wouldever go back to it. She knew now that he never would. 

"Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing, " replied the trader. "In wine there is truth. What about that?"

"It means that drink cheats a man into telling things he ought notto. And there's your liver. "

"Ay, and there's my liver. It'll be turning over to-morrow. Butnever mind that, " said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish ofbread-fruit toward him. "To-morrow I shall have a visitor. I do notsay guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend ofthis Wastrel. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarnon the subject. "

"The pianist?"

"Yes. He'll be here two or three days. So Mrs. Spurlock had betterstick to the bungalow. "

"Ah, " said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. "

"Many kinds; a thorough outlaw. We've never caught him cheating atcards; too clever; but we know he cheats. But he's witty andamusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like aPaderewski. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. Kickedout of there for something shady. A remittance man. A check arrivesin Batavia every three months. He has a grand time. Then he goesstony, and beats his way around the islands for another threemonths. Retribution has a queer way of acting sometimes. TheWastrel--as we call him--cannot play when he's sober; hands tooshaky. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. Alcohol--wouldyou believe it?--steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which isagainst the laws of gravitation, you might say. He has often toldme that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap afortune. "

"You never told me what he is like, " said Spurlock. 

"I thought it best that you should imagine him. You were wide themark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. He is big andpowerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually. In hisyouth he must have been a remarkably handsome man, for he is stillhandsome. I don't believe he is much past forty. A bad one in arough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. His hair is oddlystreaked with gray--I might say a dishonourable gray. Perhaps inthe beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. "

"That's reasonable. I don't know how to explain it, " said Spurlock, "but music hits women queerly. I've often seen them storming theCarnegie Hall stage. "

"Aye, music hits them. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day acelebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of hisfall. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery;sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of thestews. So it will be wise for Mrs. Spurlock to keep to the bungalowuntil the rogue goes back to Copeley's. Queer world. For everyEden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be awolf. "

"What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously. 

"It has been . .. Rather a hard day, Hoddy, " Ruth answered. She waswan and white. 

So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and workedfar into the night. 

 * * * * *

The general office was an extension of the west wing of theMcClintock bungalow. From one window the beach was always visible;from another, the stores. Spurlock was invariably at the high deskin the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach andthe stores an occasional glance. Whenever McClintock had guests, heloafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. 

This morning he heard voices--McClintock's and the Wastrel's. 

"Sorry, " said McClintock, "but I must ask you to check out thisafternoon before five. I'm having some unexpected guests. "

"Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone, " saidthe Wastrel, in broken English. "I give you all of my genius, andyou say--'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. "

"That is your fault, none of mine. Without whisky, " went onMcClintock, "your irritability is beyond tolerance. You have said athousand times that there was no shame in you. Nobody can trustyou. Nobody can anticipate your next move. We tolerate you for yourgenius, that's a fact. But underneath this tolerance there isalways the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassertitself. "

The Wastrel laughed. "Did you ever hear me whine?"

"No, " admitted McClintock

"You've no objection to my dropping in again later, after yourguests go?"

"No. When I'm alone I don't mind. "

"Very well. You won't mind if I empty this gin?"

"No. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. "

Silence. 

Spurlock mused over the previous night. After he had eaten dinnerwith Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music suchas he had heard only in the great concert halls. The picturesquescoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity atthe thought of such genius gone to pot. To use it as a passport tocard-tables and gin-bottles! McClintock wasn't having any guests;at any rate, he had not mentioned the fact. 

Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock'shead--that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. His ownpeculiar genius--a miracle key to the hidden things in men'ssouls--had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. Asthe Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitableend--death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. 

There was, it might be said, a double illumination. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapablydamned. The Dawn Pearl. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he wasalone. 

These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. From the window hesaw _The Tigress_ faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody wascoming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. Still, he waspuzzled because McClintock had not spoken. 

Presently McClintock came in. "General inspection after lunch;drying bins, stores and the young palms south-east. It will be hotwork, but it must be done at once. "

"All right, Mr. McClintock. " Spurlock lowered his voice. "You aregiving that chap the boot rather suddenly?"

"Had to. "

"Somebody coming?"

"Yes. Top-side insurance people. You know all this stuff isinsured. They'll inspect the schooner on the way back, " McClintocklied, cheerfully. 

"The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. "

"Oh, it's a part of the game, " said McClintock. "He knows he had totake it. There are some islands upon which he is not permitted toland any more. "

At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice thepallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. She hungabout his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleevetimidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words whichrefused to rise to her tongue. 

He patted the hand on his sleeve. "Could you get any of the musiclast night?"

"Yes. "

"Wonderful! It's an infernal shame. "

"Couldn't . .. Couldn't I go with you this afternoon?"

"Too hot. "

"But I'm used to that, Hoddy, " she said, eagerly. 

"I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven'tpolished yet. You know what's what. Slash and cut as much as youplease. I'll knock off at tea. By-by. "

The desperate eagerness to go with him--and she dared not voice it!She watched him until McClintock joined him and the two made offtoward the south. She turned back into the hall. Rollo began tocavort. 

"No, Rollo; not this afternoon. "

"But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandabledog-talk. 

"Be still!"

"Oh, come along! I've just got to have my muck bath. I'm burningup. "

"Rollo!"

There were no locks or panelled doors in the bungalow; and Rollowas aware of it. He dashed against the screen door before she couldcatch him and made the veranda. Once more he begged; but as Ruthonly repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward thejungle. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had notfollowed. 

Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. Ruth shivered; she was cold. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. Help--should she needit--from the natives was out of the question. She had not madefriends with any; so they still eyed her askance. 

Yes; she had heard the music the night before. She had resisted aslong as she could; then she had stolen over. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. One glancethrough the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. Amomentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. 

He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. Shewas a lone white woman, therefore marked. 

What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man?Music--was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift?But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. 

She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Onehour later she had gone back to the mission--without the salt. Forthe first time in her life she had heard music; the door toenchanted sounds had been flung wide. For hours after she had notbeen sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. 

Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water andrepairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. 

Day after day--five, to be exact--she had returned to Morgan's; andeach time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with akindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Sometimes themusic would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooningto her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingledand the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like thestorms crashing, thunderous. 

On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. He told hersomething about music, the great world outside. Then he had goneaway. But two weeks later he returned. Again he played for her; andagain the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in hersoul. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. Shy, grateful inher loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Shehad even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. He hadpromised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. On his third visit to the island she had surprised him, that is, she had glanced up suddenly and caught the look of the beast in hiseyes. 

And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence ofindignation that had put terror into her heart. The same look shehad often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her fatherhad brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. And nowshe comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name)knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. 

Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear andpartly because of her father's mandate. Yet the thing hidden withinher called and called. 

Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered themeverywhere. By following her he had discovered her secret nook inthe rocks. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able tohold her maddening curiosity in check. Books! She knew now what hadsaved her--her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had setthe giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. One dayshe had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited thesecret nook no more. 

And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailedhis genius through the mud. Hoddy! All her fears fell away. Betweenherself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler Godcould give--love. Hoddy. No other man should touch her; she wasHoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. 

She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered thepencils, curiously stirred. Lead, worth nothing at all until Hoddypicked them up; then they became full of magic. She began to read, and presently she entered another world, and remained in it for twohours. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly movingdrama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. Love. .. . Hecould imagine it even if he could not feel it. That was the truemiracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love andhate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to castthem aside for new imaginings. 

She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. She looked upquickly. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood insidethe room. 

CHAPTER XXVII

His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, toconfound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which wouldrob her coherent thought. Everything in his favour--the luck of thegods! The only white men were miles down the coast. She mightscream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to heraid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. 

"It is droll, " he said. "Your father--poor imbecile!--believes weran away together. I arranged that he should. So that way isclosed. You never can go back. "

There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. Wanton!. .. This, then, was what her father had meant. And he hadgone away without knowing the truth!

"My proa boys are ready; the wind is brisk; and in an hour we shallbe beyond all pursuit. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carryyou? You are _mine_!"

Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses;they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushedinstantly to the surface. Danger, the most terrible she had everfaced, was substantially in this room. She must kill this man, orkill herself. She knew it. No tricks would serve. There would be nomercy in this man. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour!

She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuatedher beauty. 

"And you ran away with a weakling! You denied me for a puppet!"

"My lawful husband. "

"Ah, yes, yes; lawful husbands in these parts are those who cantake and hold. .. . As I shall take and hold. " The Wastrel advanced. 

"If you touch me I will kill you, " said Ruth, grasping the scissorswhich lay beside the pencils--Hoddy's!

The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. "Fire! That was what drew meto you in the beginning. Well, kill me. Either we go forthtogether, or they shall bury me. "

"Beast!"

For a little while they manoeuvred around the table. Suddenly theWastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Even inthis dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in thescattering pencils. 

He reached for her, and she struck savagely. But with the skill ofa fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. 

"It looks as though, we should go together, " he said, pulling hertoward him. 

Ruth was strong in body and soul. She fought him with tooth andnail. Three times she escaped. Chairs were overturned. Once shereached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as hisarms went around her waist. The third time she escaped she reachedthe inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. 

"If there is any honour in you, stop and think. I love my husband. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as fromphysical exertion. She knew that the next time he caught her shewould not be able to free herself. "What good would it do you todestroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. "

The Wastrel laughed. He had heard this talk before. 

The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there wouldbe no escape. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors intoher own heart! Hoddy . .. To return and find her either gone ordead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came thesound of hurrying steps on the veranda. 

"Ruth?"

"Hoddy!" she cried. 

Spurlock stepped into the room. One of those hanging momentsensued--hypnotic. 

Spurlock had seen Rollo heading for the jungle, and for some reasonhe could not explain the incident had bothered him. Fretting andfidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. 

"I'm going back for Ruth. "

"Nonsense!"

"Something's wrong. "

"Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. He had particular reasons for wanting to keep Spurlockaway from the jetty. 

"I haven't any answer for that; but I'm going back after her. Shewanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. "

"Run along, then. "

 * * * * *

"To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside hishelmet. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in thatmoment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. 

"She was mine before you ever saw her. " The Wastrel tried to reachRuth's lips. 

"You lie!"

Head down, fists doubled, Spurlock rushed: only to be met with akick which was intended for the groin but which struck the thighinstead. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crashagainst the wall. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. Thatwould come later. Again he rushed. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloodypulp. 

The Wastrel did not relish this. He flung Ruth aside, carelesswhether she fell or not. There was only one idea in his head now--tobatter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feetof his love-lorn wife. He brought into service all his Orientalbar-room tricks. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corneror that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderousboot could reach the mark. From all angles he was at a disadvantage--inweight, skill, endurance. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn toGod to defend her. 

"One of us has got to die, " he panted. "You've got to kill me toget out of here alive. "

The Wastrel rushed. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. In this moment he could have stamped upon theWastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean inhim, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. Not even for Ruth couldhe do such a beastly thing. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spentbut undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. 

The unequal battle went on. It came to Spurlock suddenly that ifsomething did not react in his favour inside of five minutes, hewas done. In a side-glance--for the floor was variously encumberedwith overturned objects--he saw one of his paper weights, acoloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. As theWastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. If the Wastrel had not turned the instanthe did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turneddirectly into its path. It struck his forehead, splitting it, andbrought him to his knees. 

Luck. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; theWastrel had been knocked down, not out. Still, the respite wassufficient for Spurlock to look about for some weapon. Hanging onthe wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of alotus blossom with stem and leaves--deadly as a club. He tore itdown just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. Spurlockadvanced, the censer swung high. 

The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. The blow had broughthim back to the realm of sober thought. He glanced at Ruth (who hadstood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout thecontest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), thenat the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particularadventure was finished. 

His hesitation was visible, and Spurlock took advantage of this torun to Ruth. He put his free arm around her and held the censerready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, theywere, so far as intent, in each other's arms. Without a word or agesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbitof these two, having been thrust into it for a single purposealready described. 

For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at thedoorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed andtwisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. 

"I was going to die, Hoddy!" she whispered. "You do love me?"

"God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. I had no right to marry you. Ihave no right to love you. "

"Why not?"

"I am a thief, a hunted man. "

"So that is what separated us! Oh, Hoddy, you have wasted so manywonderful days! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't!" He made as though to draw away, but her arms becamehoops of steel. 

"Because you did not wish to hurt me?"

"Yes. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. "

"And loving me, you fought me, avoided all my traps! I'm glad I'vebeen so unhappy. Remember, in your story--look at it, scatteredeverywhere!--that line? _We arrive at true happiness only throughlabyrinths of misery. _"

"I am a thief, nevertheless. "

"Oh, that!"

He raised his head, staring at her in blank astonishment. "Youmean, it doesn't matter?"

"Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, youbabbled words. Only a few, but enough for me to understand thatsome act had driven you to this part of the world, where the huntedhide. "

"And you married me, knowing?"

"I married the man who bought a sing-song girl to give her herfreedom. "

"But I was intoxicated!"

"So was the man you just fought in this room. There is no hiddenbeast in you, Hoddy. I could not love you else. "

"They may find me. "

"Well, if they send you to prison, I'll be outside when they letyou go. "

He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips. "I'mnot worth it. You are all that I am or hope to be--the celestialatom God put into me at the beginning. Now He has taken that outand given it form and beauty--you!"

"Wonderful hand!" Ruth seized his right hand and kissed it. "Allthe wonderful things it is going to do! If I could only know forcertain that my mother knew how happy I'm going to be!"

"You love the memory of your mother?"

"It is a part of my blood . .. My beautiful mother!"

He saw Enschede, putting out to sea, alone, memories and regretscrowding upon his wake. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostlyfar more substantial than the living form. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scenebetween himself and Ruth's father. 

Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. Gazing into eachother's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the suddenappearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stainedlinen. 

There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. The lips werestraight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. Shewas, by certain signs, charged with anger, but she saw upon thefaces of these two young fools the look of angels and an ineffablekindness breathed upon her withered heart. 

"So, you young fool, I have found you!" she said, harshly. 

Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterlydumfounded. 

"Auntie?" he cried. 

"Yes, Auntie! And to date you have cost me precisely sixteenthousand dollars--hard earned, every one of them. "

Spurlock wondered if something hadn't suddenly gone awry in hishead. He had just passed through a terrific physical test. Surelyhe was imagining this picture. His aunt, here at McClintock's? Itwas unbelievable. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in hishands. But when he looked again, there she was!

"I don't understand, " he said, finally. 

"You will before I'm done with you. I have come to take you home;and hereafter my word will be the law. You will obey me out ofcommon decency. You can scribble if you want to, but after you'vegiven your eight hours daily to the mills. Sixteen thousand! Markme, young man, you'll pay it back through the nose, every dollar ofit!"

"I owe you nothing. " Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there;pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in histhrobbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. "I owe younothing, " he repeated, dully. 

"Hoity-toity! You owe me sixteen thousand dollars. They were verynice about it, in memory of your father. They telephoned that youhad absconded with ten thousand, and that if I would make good theloss within twenty-four hours, they would not prosecute. I sent mycheck for ten thousand; and it has cost me six thousand to findyou. I should say that you owed me considerable. "

Still his brain refused to assimilate the news or to deduce thetremendous importance of it. 

"You are Ruth?"

"Yes, " said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. This, then, was the woman from whom Hoddy would not have accepted acup of water. 

"Come here, " said the petticoated tyrant. Ruth obeyed, notwillingly, but because there was something hypnotic in theauthoritative tone. "Put your arms about me. " Ruth did so, butwithout any particular fervour. "Kiss me. " Ruth slightly brushedthe withered cheek. The aunt laughed. "Love me, love my dog!Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice tome. Not afraid of me, either. "

"No, " said Ruth, pulling back. 

But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. "A miserlyold woman. Well, I've had to be. All my life I've had to fighthuman wolves to hold what I have. So I've grown hard--outside. What's all this about, anyhow? You. Far away there was the onewoman for this boy of mine--some human being who would understandthe dear fool better than all the rest of the world. But God didnot put you next door. He decided that Hoddy should pay a colossalprice for the Dawn Pearl--shame, loneliness, torment, for onlythrough these agencies would he learn your worth. The fibre of hissoul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Throughfire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand willalways be on his shoulder. McClintock wrote me about you; but all Ineeded was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. "

Gently she thrust Ruth aside. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she sawlight everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. 

The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in herarms. "My little Hoddy! You used to love me; and I have alwaysloved you. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted--it tore my old heart to pieces! For Iknew you. You would suffer the torments of the damned for what youhad done. So I set out to find you, even if it cost ten timessixteen thousand. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or breakdown and have hysterics. I've come to take you back home. Don't youunderstand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us thewiser. Have you suffered?"

"Dear God!. .. Every hour since!"

"The Spurlock conscience. That is why Wall Street broke yourfather; he was honest. "

"Ah, my father! The way you treated him. .. !"

"Good money after bad. You haven't heard my side if it, Hoddy. Toshore up a business that never had any foundation, he wanted me tolend him a hundred thousand; and for his sake as well as for mine Ihad to refuse. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from thepaper-mills your grandfather left us. He wanted to become amillionaire. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched medreadfully to do it. In the end he broke his own heart along withyour mother's. I even offered him back the half interest he hadsold to me. You sent back my Christmas checks. "

"I had to. I couldn't accept anything from you. "

"You might have added 'then', " said Miss Spurlock, drily. 

"I'm an ungrateful dog!"

"You will be if you don't instantly kiss me the way you used to. But your face! What happened here just before I came?"

"Perhaps God wasn't quite sure that I could hold what I had, andwanted to try me out. "

"And you whipped the beast? I passed him. "

"At any rate, I won, for he went away. But, Auntie, however in thisworld did you find this island?"

She told him. "The chief of the detective agency informed me thatit would be best not to let Mr. O'Higgins know the truth; hewouldn't be reckless with the funds, then. For a time I didn't knowwe'd ever find you. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. Mr. O'Higgins was to keep track of youuntil I believed you had had enough punishment. Then he was toarrest you and bring you home to me. When I learned you weremarried, I changed my plans. I did not know what God had in mindthen. Mr. O'Higgins and I landed at Copeley's yesterday; and Mr. McClintock sent his yacht over for us this morning. Hoddy, whatmade you do it? Whatever made you do it?"

"God knows! Something said to me: _Take it! Take it!_ And . .. Itook it. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back. Idrew out what I had saved and boarded the first ship out. Wait!"

He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk andfetched the old coat. With the aid of a penknife he ripped theshoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. 

"You didn't spend it?"

"I never intended to spend it--any more than I really intended tosteal it. That's the sort of fool your nephew is!"

"Not even a good time!" said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffedthe bills into her reticule. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothingbut torment and remorse . .. And Ruth! Children, put your armsaround me. In a little while--to-morrow--all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I wasyesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. I'll be wanting mysixteen thousand. "

"Six, " he corrected. 

"Why, so it is, " she said, in mock astonishment. "Think of meforgetting ten thousand so quickly!"

"Go to, you old fraud! You'll never fool me again. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, ifyou want me to. Home!--which I never hoped to see again. To dreamand to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. And ifsometimes I grow heady--and it's in the blood--remind me of thisday when you took me out of hell--a thief. "

"Hoddy!" said Ruth. "You mustn't!"

"Nothing can change that, Dawn Pearl. Auntie has taken the nailsout of my palms, but the scars will always be there. "

There fell upon the three the silence of perfect understanding; andin this silence each saw a vision. To Ruth came that of the greatworld, her lawful lover at her side; and there would be gloriousbooks into each of which he would unconsciously put a little of hersoul along with his own, needing her always. The spinster sawherself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth--aflaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Spurlock's vision wasoddly of the past. He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone. 

"Children, " said the aunt, first to awake, "be young fools as longas God will permit you. And don't worry about the six thousand, Hoddy. I'll call it my wedding gift. There's nothing so sad in thisworld as an old fool, " she added. 

The three of them laughed joyously. 

And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. He was caked with dried muck. Hewas a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stumpwagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see ifthere was any forgiveness visible. There was. 

~THE END~

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge_MIMI PALMERI AS RUTH ENSCHEDE ALFRED LUNT AS HOWARD SPURLOCK]

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge_A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY]

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge_A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY]

[Illustration: _Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge_A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY]