He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. "He is respited?" "Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. But she had found it very difficult. She tried not to blush. 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. "I could," replied Thames.
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