It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Too much blood has been shed already. I take more than their blood, John. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. Wild never was the associate of thieves. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest.
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