You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Play foul, and win. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Her gratitude swelled within her. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. He remembered it suddenly. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. "To-morrow it will be mine. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. There was a flash and a loud report. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them.
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