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She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. “He tried it. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will.
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