On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. His vicious abusiveness vanished. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. Never. His glasses were gone.
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