” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. “No, don’t interrupt me. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. “Beats me.
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