“I will send you a copy,” Mr. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. After all, that was life. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. The last piece was Scheherazade. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power.
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