. "That's well," replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. ‘Hates doing the pretty.
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