She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. ” He said to her, quite unsure of whether or not he was dreaming. " CHAPTER XIX. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories.
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