There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. . “They were sent to me by Mr. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that.
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