CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. "With the help of his comrade, Jack Sheppard, the young rascal made a bold push to get out of the round-house, where my janizaries had lodged him, and would have succeeded too, if, by good luck,—for the devil never deserts so useful an agent as I am, Sir Rowland,—I hadn't arrived in time to prevent him. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. I want to give you warning that I have set myself to solve it. You are you. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him.
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