Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. She rapped again, louder. It shall be your wedding ring. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. 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. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. I love him as a brother. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. You, for instance, you live, you are not afraid to live. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. —'How so?' says I. "Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it.
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