Arrived at his habitation, Jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded to. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. "Has any one been here?" he asked. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin.
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