As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. . “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. No, I thank you. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do. ” She said quietly.
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