Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky.
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