” He said flatly. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue.
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