The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. I don’t know anyone. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. There was—a service. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. A common rage flushed their faces.
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