I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. And, for one expedition at least, we will go up this desolate valley here to Mattmark, and so on to Monte Moro. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger.
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