Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated. "Were it not for that, he would indeed be a blessing and a comfort to me. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. ‘It is nothing.
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