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"Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. And for me there is only one treasure-house. ” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin.
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