The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in his head—that Ruth loved him! He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem—he could not grip it. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. You'll find those young ladies extremely agreeable acquaintances. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Good-bye.
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