The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. So long as matters remain as they are, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Ennison paused by the little gate.
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