” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. Spurling attended him as his nurse, and, under her care, he speedily revived. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. "Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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