Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. Voilà tout. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. He saluted awkwardly. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. "How is the patient?" he asked. When I went I was refused admittance.
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