On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. She looked at him mournfully. But me, I am going to England. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine.
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