"He will live," answered Ruth. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. ‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Yet there was nothing for her to do. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. It’s not fair to you. I am so much obliged to you for your projected benevolence. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. I kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan. He returned, “Lucy, you knew I didn’t live anywhere near you?” “I was aware. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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