"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. I don’t mind it. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course.
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