Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well. "In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for me to sign. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. I will pray for you. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself.
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