“She will take her risk,” she answered. We can’t. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. 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. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs. Drink, and no sustaining food. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. Wasn't the river beautiful under the moonlight?" "We did not leave our cabins. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. You can’t go. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips.
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