To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. CHAPTER I. Fifty sent home. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. “You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. You are not going anywhere but to the Tredgold College.
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