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Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. God forgive you!" "May He, indeed, forgive me!" returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped.
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