"
CHAPTER V. 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. There are so many things I want to tell
you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily
confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you
the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter. . "How goes it?" he began, heartily. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do
not like it—’
‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. . Maggot, drawing up her fine figure to its full height;
"because I condescend to live with you, am I never to look at another man,—
especially at one so much to my taste as this? Don't think it!"
"You had better retire, Madam," said the woollen-draper, sharply, "if you can't
conduct yourself with more propriety. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark
and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it
the better.
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