‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. ‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’ ‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said Gerald. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
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