" "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. 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. “My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen has offended your father very much. Then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. Was there anything he could do! "No, Hoddy; nothing. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. “Well, make sure you use something. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that.
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