"Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces. “Well,” she achieved at last. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands.
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