" "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. 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. Give way, and let us render what assistance we can to the poor wretch. ” “Mary, please don’t cry. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. Perhaps I am still mad. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. But get up behind, Blueskin.
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