But it was hopelessly hard to put. Luck. 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. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. The Master of the Mint. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully.
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