Then they rode off at speed. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it. It had gone with the rest.
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