Too much, perhaps. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. My death, probably. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. ” “I would forgive you a great deal more,” he answered readily, “for the sake of an evening like this. ‘Now let’s have it. .
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