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I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. Thames Street was wholly impassable. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. ‘I did not think so.
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