Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. " This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears. ” Ennison obeyed Anna’s gesture, and was silent. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. And she’s pluck to the backbone.
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