"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. This I know for at the Valade estate it was talked of very much, even that they supposed me there to be the daughter of Suzanne. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat.
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