“Act three. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. “I think you are getting to understand me better. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs.
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