In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. Afraid there'll be a love-affair.
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