Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. . ‘I’ve had enough of this. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. 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. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe.
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