“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. His heart beat wildly and he was afraid lest the strain be too much; but the girl shook her head and smiled and pointed to the top of the mountain. The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise.
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