Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. He looked at her guiltily. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. All right. Indeed, he told me nothing at all. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. "His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. He gave glimpses of possibilities. " "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will.
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