Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. ” Anna shook her head. She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Sepulchre's bell is for ever ringing in my ears—oh!" "If that's the case," observed Wood, "I'm surprised you should like to have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the chimney-piece.
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