He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. . A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. “I wanted to make love to you. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had ever encountered. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue.
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