Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. All the jailers declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his astonishing task unaided; but who had lent him assistance was a question they were unable to answer. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss.
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