Wood. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. 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. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. The blades on the top spun faster and faster. He trembled violently.
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