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She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. 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. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love.
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