person stole on, sparkling, through the dry and
dusty channels of the Law; the chirping sparrows, bred in Temple
chinks and crannies, might have held their peace to listen to imaginary
skylarks, as so fresh a little creature passed; the dingy boughs, unused
to droop, otherwise than in their puny growth, might have bent down in
a kindred gracefulness to shed their benedictions on her graceful head;
old love letters, shut up in iron boxes in the neighbouring offices, and
made of no account among the heaps of family papers into which they had
strayed, and of which, in their degeneracy, they formed a part, might
have stirred and fluttered with a moment's recollection of their ancient
tenderness, as she went lightly by. Anything might have happened that
did not happen, and never will, for the love of Ruth.

Something happened, too, upon the afternoon of which the history treats.
Not for her love. Oh no! quite by accident, and without the least
reference to her at all.

Either she was a little too soon, or Tom was a little too late--she was
so precise in general, that she timed it to half a minute--but no Tom
was there. Well! But was anybody else there, that she blushed so deeply,
after looking round, and tripped off down the steps with such unusual
expedition?

Why, the fact is, that Mr Westlock was passing at that moment. The
Temple is a public thoroughfare; they may write up on the gates that it
is not, but so long as the gates are left open it is, and will be; and
Mr Westlock had as good a right to be there as anybody else. But why did
she run away, then? Not being ill dressed, for she was much too neat for
that, why did she run away? The brown hair that had fallen down beneath
her bonnet, and had one impertinent imp of a false flower clinging to
it, boastful of its licence before all men, THAT could not have been the
cause, for it looked charming. Oh! foolish, panting, frightened little
heart, why did she run away!

Merrily the tiny fountain played, and merrily the dimples sparkled on
its sunny face. John Westlock hurried after her. Softly the whispering
water broke and fell; as roguishly the dimples twinkled, as he stole
upon her footsteps.

Oh, foolish, panting, timid little heart, why did she feign to be
unconscious of his coming! Why wish herself so far away, yet be so
flutteringly happy there!

'I felt sure it was you,' said John, when he overtook her in the
sanctuary of Garden Court. 'I knew I couldn't be m