On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. To settle things, you know. But I am always afraid that he may get in while I am away. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
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