When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant.
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