"Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page.
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