But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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