Carruthers and the garments fitted him well. In one of the pockets
rested his small leather purse. When he plunged into the sea on that
memorable night a year ago it contained a half dozen small American
coins and some English money, amounting in all to eleven dollars and
thirty cents. Carefully he had treasured this wealth on the island and
he had come away with the principal untouched. Now, as he jogged along
in the cab, he emptied the contents of the purse upon the seat.

"Eleven thirty," he mused. "A splendid dowry. Not enough to buy the
ring. No flowers, no wine--nothing but pins. My letter of credit is at
the bottom of the sea. Borrowed clothes on my back and home-made clothes
on hers. I have a watch, a knife, and a scarf pin. She has diamond rings
and rubies, but she has no hat. By Jove, it looks as though I'll have to
borrow money of Veath, after all."

Lady Tennys was in her room, strangely calm and resigned. She was
wondering whether he would ever come back to her, whether she was ever
to see him again. Her tired, hopeless brain was beginning to look
forward to the dismal future, the return to England, the desolate life
in the society she now despised, the endless regret of losing that which
she had never hoped to possess--a man's love in exchange for her own.
She kept to her room, avoiding the curious stare of people, denying
herself to the reporters and correspondents, craving only the loneliness
that made the hour dark for her. It seemed to her that she had lived a
lifetime since he went forth to find the girl who had waited so long
for him.

Then came the rush of footsteps in the hall. They were not those of the
slow-moving servants, they were not--a vigorous thumping on the door was
followed by the cry of a strong, manly, vigorous voice. Her head swam,