He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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