The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. ’ ‘This is not a new thing,’ Melusine snapped, goaded. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “That is as you will,” she said. They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy. CHAPTER I.
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