Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Montague Hill. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. " "It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again.
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