It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen. “Useless—worse than useless.
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