Thames," she urged, "the errand, on which you're going, can't be for any good, or you wouldn't be afraid of mentioning it to my father. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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