it was almost a swoon of delight to her to feel his strong arms about her, holding her tightly, hurting her with the grip of their fervor.  At such moments she found justification for her treason to her standards, for her violation of her own high ideals, and, most of all, for her tacit disobedience to her mother and father.  They did not want her to marry this man.  It shocked them that she should love him.  It shocked her, too, sometimes, when she was apart from him, a cool and reasoning creature.  With him, she loved him—­in truth, at times a vexed and worried love; but love it was, a love that was stronger than she.

“This La Grippe is nothing,” he was saying.  “It hurts a bit, and gives one a nasty headache, but it doesn’t compare with break-bone fever.”

“Have you had that, too?” she queried absently, intent on the heaven-sent justification she was finding in his arms.

And so, with absent queries, she led him on, till suddenly his words startled her.

He had had the fever in a secret colony of thirty lepers on one of the Hawaiian Islands.

“But why did you go there?” she demanded.

Such royal carelessness of body seemed criminal.

“Because I didn’t know,” he answered.  “I never dreamed of lepers.  When I deserted the schooner and landed on the beach, I headed inland for some place of hiding.  For three days I lived off guavas, ohia-apples, and bananas, all of which grew wild in the jungle.  On the fourth day I found the trail—­a mere foot-trail.  It led inland, and it led up.  It was the way I wanted to go, and it showed signs of recent travel.  At one place it ran along the crest of a ridge that was no more than a knife-edge.  The trail wasn’t three feet wide on the crest, and on either side the ridge fell away in precipices hundreds of feet deep.  One man, with plenty of ammunition, could have held it against a hundred thousand.

“It was the only way in to the hiding-place.  Three hours after I found the trail I was there, in a little mountain valley, a pocket in the midst of lava peaks.  The whole place was terraced for taro-patches, fruit trees grew there, and there were eight or ten grass huts.  But as soon as I saw the inhabitants I knew what I’d struck.  One sight of them was enough.”

“What did you do?” Ruth demanded breathlessly, listening, like any Desdemona, appalled and fascinated.

“Nothing for me to do.  Their leader was a kind old fellow, pretty far gone, but he ruled like a king.  He had discovered the little valley and founded the settlement—­all of which was against the law.  But he had guns, plenty of ammunition, and those Kanakas, trained to the shooting of wild cattle and wild pig, were dead shots.  No, there wasn’t any running away for Martin Eden.  He stayed—­for three months.”

“But how did you escape?”