" "Not in the least, Sir," replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them. 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 were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. They were just nice. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. “We’ll clean up everything tidy,” said Capes.
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