"Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. " "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. I would that you were my own. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Ireton will do no such thing," replied the head-turnkey. But I must summon my janizaries. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her.
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