The ring's yours, and you're mine. ” “I suppose all IS well that ends well. That is the dreadful truth. Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming.
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