. She made a step forward. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. There were two. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle.
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