big, thanks to you."

"You.... need me a little?"

"Not a little, but a great deal."

That satisfied something of her undefined hunger. She went to her
bedroom, but she did not go to bed. She drew a chair to the window
and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. By and by she
heard the screen door. Hollo rumbled in his throat.

"Hush!" she said.

Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. He walked with
bent head. After quarter of an hour, she followed.

The unexpected twist--his disclosure to McClintock--had given
Spurlock but temporary relief. The problem had returned, made
gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. The thought allured
him, and therein lay the danger. If it were but the question of his
reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. But
he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. On that basis alone, he
had no right to give or accept love.

Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing?
It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had
said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of
excuse.

Ruth loved him. It was perfectly logical. And he could not return
this love. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day
out. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions
to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in
his head--that Ruth loved him!

He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands
digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem--he could
not grip it. Torment!

And so Ruth discovered him. She was about to rush to his side, when
she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly.
Her heart swelled to suffocation. To go to him, to console him! But
she stirred not from her hiding place. Instinctively she knew--some
human recollection she had inherited--that she must not disturb him
in this man-agony. She could not go to him when it was apparent
that he needed her beyond all other instances! What had caused this
agony did not matter--then. It was enough that she witnessed it and
could not go to him.

By and by--as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless--she
stole back to the bungalow to wait. Through her door curtain she
could see the light from the study lamp. If, when he returned, he
blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on
for any length of time, she would go silently to the stud