“I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. 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. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. My vengeance is completely gratified.
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