“I knew I should have died!” She went fast into a state of shock. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. Could she go through with it? She must. CHAPTER I. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. " "So he is," returned Jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain so. Don’t be afraid that I shall stunt it. "So it is," the doctor agreed.
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