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. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. . “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Good-looking girl. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs.
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