’ His friend held it out of the way. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. "This Enschede—the missioner. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. ” He did not look at her. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there.
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