His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. ” She gazed at him. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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