A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. “To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. CHAPTER I. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. The young man looked at her. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. If you can imagine it, I survived it. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away.
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