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They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. “She must go her own way. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. Mr. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. "So it is," the doctor agreed. 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. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation.
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