“Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. I am going to help take care of him," said Ruth, quite ordinarily, as though taking care of unknown derelicts was an ordinary event in her life. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. ’ She struggled. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. Good night. MANNING,—I find it very difficult to answer your letter. No! That was impossible. .
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