So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. Take your pick, Mrs. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. "Not so;" answered Wild.
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