He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. To Ruth came that of the great world, her lawful lover at her side; and there would be glorious books into each of which he would unconsciously put a little of her soul along with his own, needing her always. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. Let us part in peace. She laid her hand upon his arm. Yet there was nothing for her to do. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. 176 “No, it’s very good.
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