"Something's wrong. It was as if he could smell it on her. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. ‘But a spy I am not. " "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning.
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