He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. He handed Ruth a letter. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. Jack instandly extinguished the light, and called to his comrade to come after him. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face.
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