I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. I wanted the time with you. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him.
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