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"Your son," answered the boy. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. 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. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. But I have powerful friends. "I dare not, Rowland," she answered. ” Lucy said. “Is it your maid?” he asked. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer.
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