There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight.
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