Her heart thudded. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. There were no mourners. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain.
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