"Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. I'll do anything in reason for you, old top; but no pig in a poke. I know why. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. ’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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