She was no longer a confederate in that. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it.
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