The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. “Nothing. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. It melted her heart. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road.
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