l and weeping skies, the heavy air,
oppressed Seagreave's spirits and made him now sad and listless, but for
the most part curiously restless.

Strive as he would, he could not escape nor ignore it, this atmosphere
of the exotic which filled his cabin, the atmosphere of Pearl's beauty
and magnetism and of her love for him. He did not recognize it as that.
He only felt it as some strange, disturbing element which, while it
troubled his thought, yet claimed it. His growing love for her filled
him with a sort of terror. It seemed to him a mounting tide which would
sweep him, he knew not whither, and with all the strength of his nature
he struggled to hold to the resolution he had made the first day they
were alone in the cabin, not to press his love upon her until she had
left the shelter of his roof and was back again with her father.

One evening the two sat in the cabin together, as usual, Seagreave on
one side of the fire reading--that is, his eyes were upon the book and
he seemed apparently absorbed in its contents--but in reality his entire
thought was focused upon Pearl, who sat opposite him in a low chair, her
hands clasped idly in her lap, and he struggled desperately to maintain
his attitude of friendly comradeship when he addressed her.

The leaping of the flames on the hearth made quaint arabesques of shadow
on the rough walls and the wind sighed and sobbed in the chimney. Thus
they sat for an hour or two in silence and then Seagreave lifted his
eyes and stole one of his swift and frequent glances at Pearl. Something
he saw riveted his attention and he continued to gaze, forgetful of his
book, of his past resolutions, of anything in the world but her.

She was just loosening the cord which bound the throat of a small black
leather bag, and while he watched her she poured its contents into her
lap and sat bending over a handful of loose and sparkling jewels. She
was not aware of his scrutiny, but sat in complete absorption, her dark,
shining head bent over them, lifting them, turning them this way and
that to catch the firelight, letting them trickle through her long,
brown fingers.

There, sparkling in the fire-glow, was the desire of the world, the
white, streaming flame of diamonds, the heart's blood of rubies, and
sapphires--the blue of the sea and the sky--all their life and radiance
imprisoned in a dew-drop.

"How beautiful they are!" he cried involuntarily, but what he really
meant was, "How beautif