In his desire to be emphatic and to avenge himself for his over-night distresses, he speedily became brutal, more brutal than she had ever known him before. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. ' Sign it," he added, as, after some further threats, the letter was indited according to his dictation, "and direct it to Mr. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. It’s—Mrs.
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