Ruth could not be told now. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. He laughed suddenly, and released her. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. He was daring enough to have seized and carried him off before the whole congregation, but he preferred waiting. ’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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