He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree.
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