As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. "Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don't hear me! I'll ring the alarm-bell. “Ugh!” she said.
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