She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west. She described it so vividly. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed. She leaves town to-morrow. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “What do you mean?” she asked. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. He had forgiven everybody. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. They were delighted.
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