” “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” “Please!” she insisted. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. Besides, didn't I tell you that I giv' him as good as he brought—and better! I jist touched him with my 'Evenin' Star,' as I call this shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by Saint Patrick! down he cum'd like a bullock. ” She shook her head.
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