The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. "Added to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor, is her temper by any means improved—hem!" "Say no more on the subject, Sir," observed the stranger, gravely; "but let us turn to a more agreeable one—her daughter. ‘Not where we’re going.
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