"I do," replied Kneebone. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. " "You may go, and welcome, Madam!" rejoined Kneebone, spitefully. ‘Move, you.
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