"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. 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. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. John’s best friend’s parents were to be out of town again, he reported.
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