You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. That was something in his favour. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it.
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