He went off cheerfully to his letter writing, and Ruth entered the shack she occupied with Helen and Jennie. She opened her locked writing-case. Under the first flap she inserted her fingers and drew forth the wrinkled scrap of paper she had picked up on the sands.
A glance at the blurred writing assured her that it was the same as that of the hermit’s scenario.
“Flash:—
“As in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be——”
Shakingly Ruth sat down before the cheap little maple table. She spread open the newspaper wrapper and stared again at the title page of “Plain Mary.”
That title was nothing at all like the one she had given her lost scenario. But a title, after all, meant very little.
The several scenes suggested in the beginning of the hermit’s story did not conflict with the plot she had evolved, although they were not her own. She had read nothing so far that would make this story different from her own. The names of the characters were changed and the locations for the first scene were different from those in her script. Nevertheless the action and development of the story might prove to be exactly like hers.
She shrank from going deeper into the hermit’s script. She feared to find her suspicions true; yet she must know.
Finally she began to read. Page after page of the large and sprawling writing she turned over, face down upon the table. Ruth grew so absorbed in the story that she did not note the passing of time. She was truly aware of but one thing. And that seized upon her mind to wring from it both bitterness and anger.
“Want to go back to the port, Miss Ruth?” asked Mr. Hammond. “I want to mail my letters.”