go; I can't stand it any
longer."

"You can't send any of the girls in such weather; both the maids have
terrible colds, and Mary would not go if you asked her. Listen! It is
frightful. I promise to go in the morning if we don't get a letter,
but we probably shall. Let us play checkers for a while." With a forced
stoicism she essayed to distract her mother's thoughts, but with poor
success. The wretched afternoon drew to a close; and immediately after
a show of dining, Mrs. Levice went to bed. At Ruth's suggestion she took
some headache medicine.

"It will make me sleep, perhaps; and that will be better than worrying
awake and unable to do anything."

The opiate soon had its effect; and with a sigh of relief Ruth heard
her mother's regular breathing. It was now her turn to suffer openly the
fox-wounds. Louis had said she would hear to-night; but at what time?
It was now eight o'clock, and the bell might ring at any moment. Mrs.
Levice slept; and Ruth sat dry-eyed and alert, feeling her heart rise to
her throat every time the windows shook or the doors rattled. It was
one of the wildest nights San Francisco ever experienced; trees groaned,
gates slammed, and a perfect war of the elements was abroad. The wailing
wind about the house haunted her like the desolate cry of some one
begging for shelter. The ormolu clock ticked on and chimed forth nine.
Still her mother slept. Ruth from her chair could see that her cheeks
were unnaturally flushed and that her breathing was hurried; but any
degree of oblivion was better than the impatient outlook for menacing
tidings. Despite the heated room, her hands grew cold, and she wrapped
them in the fleecy shawl that enveloped her. The action brought to her
mind the way her father used to tuck her little hands under the coverlet
when a child, after they had clung around his neck in a long good-night,
and how no sooner were they there than out they would pop for "just one
squeeze more, Father;" how long the good-nights were with this play! She
had never called him "papa" like other children, but he had always liked
it best so. She brushed a few drops from her lashes as the sweet
little chimer rang out ten bells; she began to grow heart-sick with her
thoughts; her limbs ached with stiffness, and she began a gentle walk
up and down the room. Would it keep up all night? There! surely somebody
was crunching up the gravel-walk. With one look at her sleeping mother,
she quickly left the roo