There is a small yewtree west of the church. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. Mr. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. “If you speak—farewell.
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