Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society.
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