He was caressing an idea. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. “I expected you this morning,” he said. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. " "What do you want me to do?" The doctor thought this query gave hopeful promise. Ruth returned to the table.
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