You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Her mind left her. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. ’ ‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone. “I do not even know who you are. . That was something in his favour. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. There was some one there. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. She would end alone. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words.
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