CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. ‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. Capes sat watching and admiring her, and then he fell praising the day and fortune and their love for each other. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night.
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