He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. " He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America.
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