He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. "You are my prisoner. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. The man’s passion was infectious. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. Well, I'll take myself off.
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