" "That's impossible," replied Jack. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. She will tell you all the story while I am gone. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. Wood, delighted at the idea. Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. " "He shuddered when he drank. “We’re in for it.
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