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"And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. "I've been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. "You poor child!" said Prudence. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck.

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