She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. Before many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe.
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