"There's Sharples," cried Quilt. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. Those whom he retained about his person, or placed in offices of trust, were for the most part convicted felons, who, having returned from transportation before their term had expired, constituted, in his opinion, the safest agents, inasmuch as they could neither be legal evidences against him, nor withhold any portion of the spoil of which he chose to deprive them.
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