At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. ” “He would have been dead before now without it,” the doctor answered shortly. 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 see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. “Anyway, enough about that. She was the first to recover herself. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. Probably a sick man's whim. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. I've been thinking about it ever since morning.
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