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“It—it—must come,” she faltered. But her words were not addressed to Melusine. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. The weed was all right. I love you—with all my heart and soul. ” She acted calm, but could not help being offended. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. He resented being regarded as irregular. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. .
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