A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. "You will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. She was reasonably certain why. Sheppard. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down.
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