Ruth Enschede, Hartford, Conn. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. Later, when the Reverend Henry Dolby entered the Spurlock room, his wife and daughter trailing amusedly behind him, and beheld the strained eagerness on the two young faces, he smiled inwardly and indulgently.
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