She entered and approached the bunk. I couldn’t sit down for a week!” “Oh, how terrible for you. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper.
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