"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. ” He stood looking at the preparations before them with an unusual preoccupation of manner, then roused himself to take her jacket, a little awkwardly, and hand it to the waiter who hung it in the corner of the room. ” It came upon him like a flash. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. ” “Are you originally from Italy?” He asked. "I forbid you to do that.
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