He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. 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. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. “Well,” she achieved at last. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him.
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