channels
of speculation. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the
more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help;
she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some
future experience.

"The Dawn Pearl," he said.

"The natives have foolish ways of saying things."

"On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. Tell
me about your island. I have never seen a lagoon."

"But you can imagine it. Tell me what you think the island is
like."

He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had
imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. 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.

"I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn.
For you say that you swim. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you,
must have looked like pearls. Do you know what? You're some sea
goddess and you're only fooling us."

He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder.

"And you saw all that in your mind?"

"It wasn't difficult. You yourself supplied the details. All I had
to do was to piece them together."

"But I never told you how the natives fished."

"Perhaps I read of it somewhere."

"Still, you forgot something."

"What did I forget?"

"The breathless days and the faded, pitiless sky. Nothing to do;
nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. To wait for hours and
hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the
monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and
crushes you--you forgot that!"

Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate
anger. It was his turn to express astonishment. Fire; she was full
of it. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning!

"You don't like your island?"

"I hate it!... Bu