Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. 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. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?.
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