And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. I don't know anything about you. Mrs. Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all there was to see of Canton. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself.
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