I freely forgive you. "Heaven has decreed it otherwise," replied the knight, dejectedly. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. "If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard. He slapped his knee. “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. She felt her skills make a belated return. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. E. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed.
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