After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. He drew an awed breath. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. Some excuse for this rapacity may perhaps be found in the fact, that five thousand pounds was paid for the purchase of the Press Yard by Mr. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. The carpenter did not hesitate a moment. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. You were very good. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal.
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