"I am come to render you a service. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. She picked up the hand cannon. Come along home, Ruth. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. You would not have the slightest difficulty. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. . ” “Yes,” said his prospective fellow-sailor, “that’s very pretty.
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