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. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. She despises me, I suppose. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure.
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