He had heard nothing. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her.
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