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. The chapel was crowded to excess. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. Come and help me pack. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. A species of vertigo seized him. We were worried. And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty.
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