But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. These desperadoes had been the most active in demolishing the coach, and now, being supported by the rabble, they audaciously approached the very portals of the ancient Hall. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. It was a brief solitude, however. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him.
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