The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. But it's an odd case. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife.
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