To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. 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. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced.
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