“But—your people!” she gasped. 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. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. Then instinct took over. They had changed identities absolutely. “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. But no more of that. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good.
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