"Let us hope that, like her who 'loved much,' her sins are forgiven her. It was Celeste’s idea. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. He had something across his knees. CHAPTER XXVIII.
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