Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. "I don't think that's likely. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. To-night we leave for Marseilles. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. .
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