"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. " "A bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him.
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