"You were watched to-night by Blueskin. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. 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. " "That is your fault, none of mine.
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