"Promise me that. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. Forgive me.
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