Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. ” Ramage reflected. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. Jests are not for seasons like this. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. The theme was a masquerade. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. " "May be not," replied the old sailor, drily; "but you'll find it too stiff for you tonight, anyhow. He seemed to know a great deal about life. " "Then you're heartily welcome, Sir, whoever you are.
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