We hide it bravely, but so it is. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. I’ve never met any one like you. But in doing so, I most likely saved 233 your life. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall.
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