’ So pat, thought Gerald. . It was a dead calm. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow. I know why. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. I arranged that he should. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. "Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. ” They went on for a time without another word.
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