" "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. "They'll escape.
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