"Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. I could not hear his heart beat. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders.
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