But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. "Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. If they become bad it is through inclination, not necessity. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Here, turnkey. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents.
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