typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent
courage.

"That's tremendous!" he cried. "Lord, if I can only remember to
write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. "I'll
tackle it to-night!"

"But it's after ten!"

"What's that got to do with it? ... The roofs of the native huts
scattering in the wind! ... the absolute agony of the twisting
palms!.... and those two beggars laughing as they breasted death!
Girl, you've gone and done it!"

He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with her
to the bungalow.

Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the
threshold of what they now called his study. There were no doors in
the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and
bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. His pipe hung dead in his
teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. His hand flew across the
paper. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began
another. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window
which gave upon the sea. But she could tell by the dullness of his
eyes that he saw only some inner vision.

Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what
kisses were now. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he
neither saw nor heard.

CHAPTER XXII

Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in
the lagoon. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go
beyond her depth because of the sharks. She always managed to get
back to the bungalow before he did.

As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning
in the study; so she stopped at the door. Spurlock lay with his
head on his arms, asleep. The lamp was spreading soot over
everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. She
ran to the lamp and extinguished it. Spurlock slept on. It was
still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note
the number of the last page--fifty-six.

Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. She tied the obi clumsily about
her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. He did not
move. Mischief bubbled up in her. She set her fingers in the hair
and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that
her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke.

He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his
dream. He had been dreaming of Ruth--an old recurrency of that
dream he had had in Canton, of