Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. And I am grateful to you. ” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places.
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