But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. Well, kill me. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat.
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