" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Wiped out, but for these. He decided that Hoddy should pay a colossal price for the Dawn Pearl—shame, loneliness, torment, for only through these agencies would he learn your worth.
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