" So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. ’ ‘I don’t know that there is so much to tell. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. Perhaps I'd better open it now. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
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