That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. "I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. “I do,” he answered. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it. I shall ride to St.
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