“I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror.
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