” Capes waited patiently. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Vorsack would just have to live with it. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. It was ten feet long, a relic. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. There's my thumb upon it. Take it, I tell you. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. works. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. "I have killed her," cried Jack. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head.
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