If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. She led him up the long hall solemnly. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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