“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. " "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. ‘I know that, miss.
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