"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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