aughed.

But it seemed to him there was something metallic in her laughter, and
that the light in her eyes was cold. On the spur of the moment it
reminded him of a gale he had once experienced in the North Pacific. And
for the moment the apparition of the gale rose before his eyes--a gale at
night, with a clear sky and under a full moon, the huge seas glinting
coldly in the moonlight. Next, he saw the girl in the leper refuge and
remembered it was for love of him that she had let him go.

"She was noble," he said simply. "She gave me life."

That was all of the incident, but he heard Ruth muffle a dry sob in her
throat, and noticed that she turned her face away to gaze out of the
window. When she turned it back to him, it was composed, and there was
no hint of the gale in her eyes.

"I'm such a silly," she said plaintively. "But I can't help it. I do so
love you, Martin, I do, I do. I shall grow more catholic in time, but at
present I can't help being jealous of those ghosts of the past, and you
know your past is full of ghosts."

"It must be," she silenced his protest. "It could not be otherwise. And
there's poor Arthur motioning me to come. He's tired waiting. And now
good-by, dear."

"There's some kind of a mixture, put up by the druggists, that helps men
to stop the use of tobacco," she called back from the door, "and I am
going to send you some."

The door closed, but opened again.

"I do, I do," she whispered to him; and this time she was really gone.

Maria, with worshipful eyes that none the less were keen to note the
texture of Ruth's garments and the cut of them (a cut unknown that
produced an effect mysteriously beautiful), saw her to the carriage. The
crowd of disappointed urchins stared till the carriage disappeared from
view, then transferred their stare to Maria, who had abruptly become the
most important person on the street. But it was one of her progeny who
blasted Maria's reputation by announcing that the grand visitors had been
for her lodger. After that Maria dropped back into her old obscurity and
Martin began to notice the respectful manner in which he was regarded by
the small fry of the neighborhood. As for Maria, Martin rose in her
estimation a full hundred per cent, and had the Portuguese grocer
witnessed that afternoon carriage-call he would have allowed Martin an
additional three-dollars-and-eighty-five-cents' worth of credit.

CHAPTER XXVII

The sun of M