But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. 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. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. ’ ‘Entertained, he says!’ ‘Intrigued, then,’ amended Gerald equably, although truth to tell he was enjoying the mystery enormously. But I shan’t try to stop you.
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