She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. Taking a firm grasp of his pistol, Gerald eased back, let go the handle of the door, and at the same instant, swung his booted foot. “There is some mystery about you both,” he exclaimed, with sudden earnestness. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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