He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. But, when he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears; and feeling convinced that Jack —bad as he might be—was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and speedily fell asleep. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. At last she was roused. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. CHAPTER XVIII. I kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan.
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