There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. I hate what I am.
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