father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in
the man!--the iron in this child of his!

Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Spurlock bent his
head to his knees. He took into his soul some of the father's
misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Enschede,
to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a
curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might
have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And
this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. Poor
Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband--a thief!

Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He knew that at this moment Ruth
lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the
reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be
putting scars on her soul. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go
to her and console her! Accursed--all of them--Enschede, Ruth, and
himself.

"What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at
lunch?"

Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. He waved a hand
toward the sea.

"A sail?" said McClintock. "What about it?"

"Enschede."

"Enschede?--her father? What's happened?" McClintock sat down. "Do
you mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devil
kind of a father is he?"

Spurlock shook his head.

"What's become of Ruth?"

"Gone to her room."

"Come, lad; let's have it," said McClintock. "Anything that
concerns Ruth is of interest to me. What happened between Ruth and
her father that made him hurry off without passing ordinary
courtesies with me?"

"I suppose I ought to tell you," said Spurlock; "but it is
understood that Ruth shall never know the truth."

"Not if it will hurt her."

"Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had
enough. Her mother.... Do you recall the night she showed you the
face in the locket? Do you remember how she said--'If only my
mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or
beautiful?"

"I remember. Go on and tell me."

When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his
own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign.

"So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, moping
alone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour of
bitterness?"

"What can I do?"

"You can go to her and take her in your arms."

"I might have been able to do that if you hadn't told me ... she
cared."