Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. It reached her only slowly that Ann Veronica was standing to her resolution. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression.
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