" This strong feeling of remorse having found a natural vent, in some degree subsided, and he addressed himself to his present situation. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna said, “directly my maid answers the bell— unless you choose to go before. ‘Point it at me. ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. 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 will make it possible,” he cried. I went off to round up his wife. The tables were then cleared. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. Aliva Trencher.
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