" "No doubt," he replied. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home.
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