Alors, one must steel oneself. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. The servants had left the room. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them.
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