are that his illness had opened the way to the inherent
conscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, or
that there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. He saw what
he had done only as it related to Ruth. He would have to go on; he
would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon
himself.

His salvation--if there was to be any--lay in her ignorance of
life. But she could not live in constant association with him
without having these gaps filled. And when she learned that she had
been doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on her
side of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as he
anticipated hers. He was an imaginative young man.

Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they
separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes
he would hold her hand in his and pat it.

"I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this
table is. You never can tell. I'm likely to get up any time in the
night to work."

Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which was
within calling distance of McClintock's. They had scrubbed and
dusted, torn down and hung up until noon.

"Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her
forehead. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her
in the wing across the middle hall, alone. "This will be very
comfortable."

"Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?"

"Not in the lagoon. Mr. McClintock says they can't get in there, or
at least they never try it."

"Lord!--think of having sharks for neighbours? Every morning I'll
take a dip into the lagoon. That'll tune me up."

"But don't ever swim off the main beach without someone with you."

"I wonder where the deuce I'll be able to get some writing paper?
I'm crazy to get to work again."

"Probably Mr. McClintock will have some."

"I sha'n't want these curtains. You take them. The veranda bamboo
will be enough for me."

He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her
eyes. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned--the softness
of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. He turned
irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of
his old manuscripts.

"I believe I'll tear them up. So long as they're about, I'll always
be rewriting them and wasting my time."

"Let me have them."

"What for? What do you want of them?"

"Why,