That was the glorious if bewildering truth. Wood, severely, "and go to bed. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. 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. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. He had heard everything. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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