There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. "Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief.
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