. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. “Well?” he asked her tersely. . The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. 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. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. The simile started a laugh in his throat.
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