The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. “I hope nothing is wrong. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. '" "What is that?" she asked. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. She sings better perhaps. Ruth could not be told now. “I can’t keep away from you. One cannot trust any man at all.
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