She struggled fiercely not to give way. 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. Instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood.
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