"Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. “It was perhaps my fault. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. ” His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. A garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused. Challenge accepted. The doors were closed and barricaded, and the mob threatened to burst them open if Jack was not delivered to them. His spirits began to rise. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you.
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