And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Attracted by the odour of the latter dainty, a hungry cat had contrived to scratch open the paper in which it was wrapped, displaying the following words in large characters:—"THE HISTORY OF THE FOUR KINGS, OR CHILD'S BEST GUIDE TO THE GALLOWS. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. "If I hadn't just left him, I could have sworn it was Mrs. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ‘So I shall do so. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. No other white people within twenty miles. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness.
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