The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. "For what?" "I had the paper with me. \"Josh Durkin?\" Lucy whispered loudly. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. You’re NOT to go.
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