From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. "No matter," replied Sheppard. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. "Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. For so far she had kept it uncashed. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd.
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