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Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Then he stood up and repeated it again. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. “You poor thing. He was not there. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. But this was a vicomte’s sister.
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