At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. ’ The girl shook her head violently, setting the feathers on her hat bobbing. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. 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. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. “And you brought her a man, I presume. A fortnight passed, then a month.
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