It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Think of those days in Paris. You never can go back. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman.
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