" "How so?" inquired Winifred. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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