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She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. " "Lord, that's just the lesson I've been expounding! It isn't a question of fear; it's one of propriety.
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