" "I will go," said Mrs. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. “I don’t know. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. CHAPTER VII. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. ’ Which effectually silenced her. Jonathan laughed scornfully. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. “Um, okay. '—'They can't,' says I. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. She had agonized over it for weeks.
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