“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. ” He said. He could not make good his hold. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. It was not a long prayer. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. ” She laughed. "You are all right?"—anxiously. “Do tell me all about it.
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