...raw up again the bow unbent. Harm thee, my Ruth! I only sought To frighten off thy gloomy thought; Come,—let's be friends!” He seeks to clasp His daughter's cold, damp hand in his. Ruth startles from her father's grasp, As if each nerve and muscle felt, Instinctively, the touch of guilt, Through all their subtle sympathies. He points her to the sleeping Mogg: What shall be don...