He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. Suddenly he stopped short. "I am glad you think that," she replied. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. . . But recently he had asked God to pile it all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. .
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