She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. "I half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the Jew; "he's so ready with his cash. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Wood heard the cry. She and I were very close. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. . . She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance.
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