” “Blood of my heart!” whispered Capes, holding her close to him. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Supposing you take them and read them? You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed. I tell you what, Mr. 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. ” He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog.
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