Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. We mustn’t make it so. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. "You mistake,—you are mine. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult.
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