"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. After a day or so, perhaps, we will go on one or two little excursions and see how good your head is—a mild scramble or so; and then up to a hut on a pass just here, and out upon the Blumlis-alp glacier that spreads out so and so. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. ’ She shook her head sadly. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. Eh bien, you have now the opportunity.
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