She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. "Look at him!" Ruth looked. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She bent down. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. " As he spoke, a smile crossed Sheppard's countenance. She rose to the fire to stoke it.
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