" "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. ” She had spoken rather rapidly. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. .
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