A sinister thought edged in. Men are against her. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. But his words were borne away by the driving wind.
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