I. . Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. You are not my husband. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. "'Faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. ” “Coarse?” said Capes, “We’re not coarse. ’ Melusine found her tongue. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. "I dare not, Rowland," she answered. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. Her sister’s words were true. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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