“Oh, no! It’s all past, all gone,” she answered firmly. “I’m quite strong now, and to prove it, we will have a little bonfire. Sam, have you a light?”
Quietly Sam produced a match-box from his pocket, took a match, lighted it and handed it over.
Virginia applied the fire to the letter. As it burned down to the last bit, which she dropped from her hand, and disappeared in smoke, she looked up and as her eyes fell on the transcendently beautiful autumn vista, and then rested on Sam’s strong and at that moment deeply apprehensive face, there gradually came into them a steadfast look of admiration and loyalty.
Sam caught the wondrous expression. He stepped forward, his arms opened, and she fell on his shoulder, her arms about his neck.
“Will it ever return, darling?” he said soothingly.
“Never again, Sam,” and as she turned her face up to him their lips met in a seal of absolute trust and affection.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Philip Rutley and Jack Shore were duly arraigned for abduction and felony, tried and convicted on both counts, and each was sentenced to a maximum penalty of twenty years in the state penitentiary at Salem.
Even then Rutley’s penchant for conspiracy asserted itself. One afternoon, just four months after the prison doors closed on them, the inner corridor guard was killed, a second overpowered and knocked unconscious. So swiftly and silently was the work done that before discovery six convicts had escaped to the outer court. There, however, on a general alarm being sounded, three of them were shot down from the walls. The others surrendered.
One of the convicts who was shot and died almost instantly was Philip Rutley.